The One We Need
by macadama
Summary: In the wake of the explosion, where will Mohinder go with no place to call home and a child in his care? And what will happen when his past follows him to the United States? *Revised as of March 4,2008*
1. Concrete Jungle

Molly insisted that they go to the hospital where the paramedics had taken Officer Parkman. Mohinder somehow stayed awake while watching the clock drag on into the morning hours. He turned his head and found Molly dozing on his shoulder. Brushed back wayward locks that covered her face, he sat there, pondering her surprisingly still frame and smooth face.

"Mister Suresh."

Mohinder looked up and saw the attending doctor standing by their row of seats.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I was able to contact Mister Parkman's wife. She said to remove him from life support."

"Damnit!" Mohinder hissed.

Molly woke up at Mohinder's flinch. "What is it, Doctor Suresh?"

The doctor cast a curious glance at Mohinder. "You're a doctor?"

"A geneticist, actually," he replied.

"Well, I thought I'd let you visit with him one last time."

"One last time?" Molly asked. "Is Officer Parkman going to die?"

The doctor looked at Molly and nodded. "I'm sorry."

Molly faced Mohinder, her lip quivering. She stared at him for a while before sliding out of the visitor chair where she had been perched. With that, Mohinder stood up and reached for her hand. Together, they followed the doctor to see Parkman.

They arrived at Parkman's bed and found the former police officer chained to a ventilator. Wires snaked from monitors to various patches on his body making him almost impossible to see. Overhead fluorescent lights washed out his already pale face and limp hands. The beep of the heart monitor and huffs of the ventilator blended into the white noise of hospital activity.

"Molly," Mohinder whispered to the scared child at his side.

"Take your time," the doctor said.

Molly shot an indignant look at the doctor before dragging Mohinder closer to the bed. Only then could they see the lack of expression on Parkman's face. Once close enough, Molly let go of Mohinder's hand and crept to a spot near Parkman's ear.

"Officer Parkman," she squeaked, "you'll always be my hero."

She dug her skinny fingers into the bed sheet by Parkman's head and began to cry. Mohinder knelt at her side, slipping an arm around her shoulders. He nodded to the doctor, who glanced at the nurse standing near the foot of the bed. The two disconnected the ventilator before stepping away. For a moment, the four of them kept watch on Parkman. Molly clung to Mohinder, who faced the bed. Mohinder had not been formally introduced to the policeman at any point, but he felt a sense of duty toward him. Hugging Molly, he leaned toward Parkman's ear.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I'll keep her safe."

With that, a high pitched whine cut through the air. Molly squeezed Mohinder's shoulders, and he patted her back. He glanced up and saw the rows of flat lines on the heart monitor. To his right, he observed the doctor look at his watch. The doctor removed a pen from his pocket and scribbled something on the clipboards in his hand.

"What time is it?" Mohinder asked him.

"Five fifty-six," the doctor replied. "I'll leave you alone for a couple minutes."

At that, the doctor waved the clipboard. Mohinder nodded.

"Of course," he mumbled as the doctor and nurse left the bed.

After they left, Mohinder continued to hold a sobbing but somewhat still Molly. He stared at Parkman's body on the bed, not yet prepared for movement to the morgue. His thoughts drifted to something Molly told him while they sat in the lobby. Idly, he wondered if Peter could read minds.

Too focused on the little girl's crying, he did not feel the tear racing down his cheek.

A half hour later, the two of them left the hospital with no idea where they were going. Streams of pink snaked between crevices of the urban jungle, muting the reds of traffic lights. Mohinder and Molly wove their way through the concrete maze with the only noise coming from the rumble of early morning traffic. Their silence was interrupted by a low gurgle.

"I'm hungry," Molly mumbled.

Mohinder looked around at the semi-familiar street onto which they had wandered. He vaguely remembered driving down it what seemed like years ago but was, in fact, only six weeks in his past. He searched his brain, trying to remember what he had seen in his travels along the street. Then it came to him.

"There's a little deli along the way," he told her. "We can stop there."

With that, the duo continued walking. Upon arrival at the deli, they found the place was empty, save a waitress, a middle-aged man and a teenage girl. The waitress looked up from wiping the seats by the counter and told them to sit wherever they wished. They sat at a booth far from the man and the girl and perused the menus.

After they finished their small meals, Molly excused herself and went to the bathroom. Mohinder stayed at the booth, waiting for her. While waiting, he closed his eyes and tried to process everything that had happened in the past 24 hours. He could only comprehend holding that gun to Bennet's head, shielding Molly's from from the sight of an injured black man and then the explosion. As visions of Peter's glowing form dominated his thoughts, Mohinder felt the table shift under his elbows. He opened his eyes to find the man sitting across from him.

"Mister Bennet?" he asked.

"Call me Noah," the man replied. "I'm surprised to see you around here."

"Molly and I left the hospital about an hour ago. We stopped for some breakfast."

"Like you ate much," Bennet replied, gesturing to the half nibbled nova lox bagel on the plate in front of Mohinder.

Mohinder rubbed his eyes. "I don't know where I can take Molly. My apartment is in ruins, and I'm not going back to Kirby Plaza."

Bennet smirked. "Finally figured them out, huh?"

"They're not getting their hands on Molly."

"And technically, you won't, either."

Mohinder looked at Bennet. "What do you mean?"

"Your visa expires next week. Then what will happen to Molly?"

"I..."

"Don't worry, Doctor Suresh. I know a way we can fix that."

"Fix..."

"And move Molly somewhere safe, since you insist on protecting her."

"Much like you are with Claire."

At that, Bennet's face softened. "True. So, do you want to fix this?"

Mohinder nodded. Looking up, he saw Molly standing just outside the restrooms.

"Molly," he asked, "what's wrong?"

Molly locked eyes with the geneticist pointed at Bennet. With that, Mohinder got up and joined her where she stood. He brushed away strands of hair that fell in her face, wondering if he would ever find brown locks slipping between his fingers.

"Molly," he whispered, "Mister Bennet says he knows a way to get us to a safe place. Do you want to know what that is?"

The little girl shrugged but took Mohinder's hand. They walked back to the booth with Molly sticking by Mohinder's side. Once they were seated, Bennet ended a call on his cell phone.

"I've arranged for you to go to Florida," he said as Mohinder and Molly sat down.

"Whereabouts?" Mohinder asked.

"The address and the name of the person who you will meet are on this sheet of paper. I have informed your contact that you will be there in three days."

During the conversation, Claire walked over to the booth where the rest of the group congregated, discussing where Mohinder and Molly would go and what they needed to do once they made it to relative safety. She handed Mohinder a piece of paper with a key wrapped in it. He unfolded the paper and read the address written inside. Trying not to cry, he nodded at Claire, the only expression of gratitude he could manage.

Shawn LeLand glanced at the clock across from the nurses' station. She cursed under her breath that it was only six thirty five in the morning. Only about a million things could go wrong before shift change, she thought. At least tonight had been slower than usual, making Bennet's pseudo-request less annoying. He was lucky to have called her while she stole a moment for a break; he could have called her in the middle of an operation to remove a pole from some poor sap's head.

"Earth paging Doctor LeLand. Earth paging Doctor LeLand."

Shawn turned her head to find the source of the voice and found a petite woman to her right. She rolled her eyes at her fellow trauma surgeon, who was occupied with pulling her ebony locks into something resembling a bun.

"Good morning to you, too, Malloy," she muttered with a friendly eye roll.

"Somehow, I doubt you're daydreaming about your job," the other woman repiled.

"Actually, Yolanda, tonight hasn't been so bad. ICU is only half full, and only one person coded."

"Then what has you pulling the space cadet routine?"

Shawn cast her eyes around the unit. A couple nurses milled about the station, juggling clipboards and typing information into the computers. Beeping monitors and the muted whoosh of scattered ventilators blended into the background yet pounded on her eardrums. The strangling quiet of the place challenged her concentration and patience.

"Break room?" she asked Yolanda.

Yolanda nodded, and the surgeons made their way out of the unit.

The break room was quieter than the unit, but there were more people present. Most of them were nurses eating while slogging through paperwork. The nurses occupied the tables closer to the door, prompting the doctors to search out a place toward the back. Once they procured an obscure corner near some lockers, they pulled up a couple plastic chairs.

"What's going on, Shawn?" Yolanda asked. "You don't just spaz like that. Having problems tapping?"

Shawn shook her head. "Bennet called."

At that, Yolanda's mouth fell open. "Why? You're not due for an evaluation for another two years."

"He's not with them anymore, or at least that's what he told me. He called asking me to provide asylum."

"Don't tell me-"

Shawn held up her hand. "It's not for him. It's for this guy, Doctor Suresh or something, and a little girl."

"What's going on?"

"I'm not one hundred percent sure. I haven't tapped anyone involved since he called, but whatever it is, it's big."

Yolanda dropped her head. "It must be if Bennet's asking a favor of you."

"I just wish I knew what it was."

"Well, I'll go get us some caffeine so you can tap."

Shawn nodded in assent, and Yolanda left their impromptu meeting area.

When Yolanda left, Shawn closed her eyes and rested her head against a locker. Her strawberry blonde tresses acted as a cushion while she cleared her mind. Once her brain waves were stable, she mouthed the word "Bennet". She soon saw a hyper paced montage of scenes: Bennet with two men in a no name diner, him firing a gun twice into Thompson's head, him conversing with a little girl who was lying in a hospital bed and him standing outside Kirby Plaza with his daughter. Her eyes flew open as her mind struggled to sort out what she had seen.

Yolanda returned to the corner with two cups of coffee. She found Shawn with her eyes squeezed shut and slumped in her seat. After closing and reopening her eyes, she looked in Shawn's chest cavity and saw her heart pumping like an over oiled piston.

"Shawn!" she hollered.

Yolanda's clarion called jerked Shawn out of her shock.

"Yolanda...something big happened at the company."

Mohinder unlocked the door to the empty apartment, relieved to find it somewhat untouched. He guided Molly in by the shoulder before locking the door behind them. Glancing around, he located the sole bedroom and bathroom. After investigating the bedroom and checking its door, he decided to sleep on the couch.

"Whose apartment is this?" Molly asked.

"Someone Mister Bennet and I know," Mohinder replied in full parent mode.

"Is it Peter Petrelli?"

Mohinder shifted in place. "Yes, it is."

"Why are we here, then?"

At that, Mohinder huffed out a tired sigh. "Because Sylar destroyed my apartment."

Molly looked up at the disheveled geneticist. "The boogeyman came after you, too?"

Mohinder bit his tongue while trying to find the best answer to the query. Finally, he said, "I had something he wanted."

"Like what?"

Tired of the questions and run down by the fatigue catalyzed by the events of the past two days, Mohinder rubbed his temples in a fruitless attempt to clear his head. He knelt to be eye level with his little girl.

"I think we should talk after we get some sleep."

"Okay," she replied. "I just don't have anything to sleep in."

Mohinder rocked back on his heels and glanced at the ceiling. "We'll both have to sleep in our clothes for now, Molly. After we get some sleep, we can go get some new ones."

This answer seemed to satisfy Molly's persistent curiosity. The two of them washed up before settling in for some diurnal sleep. He tucked her into Peter's bed and staked out the couch for himself. He positioned himself to be able to hear any noises from the bedroom yet kept the doorway out of his line of vision. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the exhaustion of being awake for so long.


	2. Wake Up

A cursory glance at the clock in her car's stereo system told Shawn that nine AM was much too late for arriving home. After parking and stumbling out of her Camry hybrid, she focused on preparing herself for sleep. While stuck in rush hour traffic, she delved further into the experiences of Bennet and the person he requested her to shelter: Mohinder Suresh. Exhaustion reduced her concentration, but she had been able to piece together what had happened in New York. Part of her rejoiced in juvenile glee when she learned Bennet had the balls to shoot Thompson. The troubling part of all this was the looming question of who or what would fill the void left by the meltdown of leadership in the company. Shawn tried not to speculate on this matter while she changed into a t-shirt and green plaid pajama pants. After a pre-bed snack of a banana, Shawn dragged herself to her cluttered bedroom.

She fell on her bed, somehow managing to pull her feet up onto it. Closing her eyes, she tried to ease herself into dreamland, but sleep eluded her in spite of the physical strain her job put on her the night before. That's when she realized she was in the terrace. It had been years since her last visit. Even though she wanted nothing more than to recharge, Shawn remained alert, wondering why she had come back to this place.

Looking around, she saw the familiar orchids had disappeared. Pigeons now perched and nested in the remains of the greenhouse. Opaque clouds dotted the sky, washing the terrace and the city below in muted hues of cyan and gray. Further observation revealed a dark chocolate colored head dotted with flecks of gray and white. The head was lower than she remembered last seeing it and soon found the rest of the person perched in a wheelchair. She stepped forward, and the wheelchair bound person swiveled to face her.

"Good morning, Shawn," he hummed with a small smile.

"Charles?" Shawn asked, almost choking on her words in the process.

"I couldn't take it anymore," he replied. "That damn Angela, well, I won't dwell on that since you're here."

"What do you mean? Charles, what happened to the company?"

"Right now, your guess is as good as mine."

Shawn stepped closer to him. "Damnit! That's not what I want to hear right now."

Charles's eyes widened at Shawn's venomous bellow. "I think the more appropriate question right now is what's going on with you?"

At that, Shawn stared at her bare feet. "Bennet called. He wants me to provide asylum."

"Asylum?"

"For a man named Mohinder Suresh. And a little girl. He didn't tell me much."

Charles nodded and gestured toward a chair near the frazzled surgeon. "Have a seat. And help yourself to some apples. The late season McIntoshes are exquisite."

Shawn lowered herself into the chair as her otherworldly mentor wheeled himself over to the wrought iron table. She picked up various apples, gauging the firmness before deciding an extra snack wouldn't hurt anything. All the while, traffic hummed below, providing soothing white noise to quell Shawn's mind.

"Shawn," Charles asked, "what do you know about the company?"

"Probably more than most," she replied. "I do know that this Suresh guy, if he actually worked for them at any point, was not around for very long. He's a scientific version of Bennet, actually, now that I think about it."

Charles nodded. "Sounds like Bennet needed some serious prodding to defy Thompson. You'd probably see his picture next to the definition of 'yes man' in the dictionary. Probably best that Suresh came across him first."

Shawn chuckled in spite of herself. "Why's that?"

As Shawn bit into the apple, Charles fixed an eye on her. "You know Thompson. I shouldn't have to tell you."

"Okay! Okay! I get the message. Problem is both Suresh and this little girl have fallen through some serious legal cracks. If they're caught, I'm going to have a hell of a time explaining myself."

"No, you won't."

"What do you mean?"

"Yolanda is the key. Ask her about her cardiac patients."

Shawn cocked her head. "Cardiac?"

"Just do as I say, Shawn. How many times have I lead you wrong in the 14 years we've known each other?"

"Um...none?"

"Exactly. Now go get some sleep."

Five hours of sleep did not begin to compensate for what Mohinder had endured. However, Molly's safety and the contents in the envelope Bennet gave him at the deli kept him from slipping into any state resembling sound sleep. Still lying on the couch, he grabbed the envelope off the coffee table and ripped it open. Along with the information regarding his contact, he found a prepaid credit card worth 1000 dollars, a map, a set of keys and more sheets of paper. Mohinder poured over these items and picked up his cell phone. After calling his landlord to break the lease, he went to the bedroom to check on Molly. When he opened the door, he saw her sitting on the bed, tracing invisible patterns into the comforter.

"How are you feeling, Molly?" he asked her.

Molly shrugged. "Meh. I couldn't sleep."

Mohinder stepped into the room and sat next to Molly. "Was it a nightmare?"

She shook her head. "I just couldn't sleep. I kept hearing someone cry and ask for Peter."

"Peter?" he croaked.

"I thought maybe it was you, Doctor Suresh."

Mohinder rubbed her head. "Molly, why don't you just call me Mohinder?"

The little girl looked at Mohinder and nodded. For a moment, he watched Molly's fingers meander along the rough material, wondering if it had felt similar patterns from its owner in the past. "I...I was asleep."

Molly halted her pseudo-doodling. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I mean, had I been awake and crying...I'd remember that."

"Okay. If you say so."

With that, Molly hopped off the bed and headed for the bathroom. Mohinder glanced at the cheap alarm clock on the night stand. He realized they would have to leave soon if they planned to be in Florida by the eleventh. It was going to be a long drive. All the same, Mohinder wanted to get out of the apartment. As he returned to the living room to grab his cell phone, he spotted what looked like tear spots on the pillow.

Nightfall in Chennai proceeded with the same restless hustle heard in the daylight hours. Lanterns littered the overhangs and eaves, casting soft, multicolored light onto the streets below. Mothers dragged wandering children away from the thresholds to get them ready for bed. Those still on the street tugged at their muslin and linen shirts, hoping to generate a cool breeze that would chase the lingering humidity away.

The indoor activities in the city contrasted the street with its denizens tucked into the corners of buildings. On the upper floor of a wood and tin bungalow was one room where a yellow light peeked out from behind dense curtains. The draperies hid the pacing and packing done by a geneticist preparing for her first business trip. For Mira Shenoy, this trip to the United States distracted her from her passion: managing the efforts of genetic researchers in southern India. She had only been overseeing the genetic research department for a few weeks, yet she was already appointed to a special committee formed in conjunction with Yamagato Industries and L'Aura. As Mira packed, she reflected on the announcement of this trip.

"Miss Shenoy."

Mira looked up from the paperwork scattered across her desk only to find her boss standing in front of her. "Yes, Doctor Chawd?"

The lanky man closed the door behind him. "I come bearing urgent information. The head of the Linderman Group was found dead earlier today."

Mira cocked her head. "Do they know the cause?"

Doctor Chawd shook his head. "They're saying he was murdered, but we still don't know any details. Other members of the group's core leadership were also killed."

"So who is in charge?"

Her boss handed her an envelope. "They're forming a new leadership committee made up of other branches of the company, including ours."

She grabbed the envelope and gave it a once over. "What's in here?"

"Travel papers. You've been assigned to the genetics sector of the Linderman Group. Nearly all of the men in charge of that area were either killed or have fled the country."

Mira blinked and set the envelope on the desk. "Well...who will be in charge of the research department here?"

"I'll be presiding over it, effective today. Pack your bags, Mira. It's going to be a long stay."

Returning to the present, Mira zipped up her second suitcase and placed it outside her bedroom door next to its larger counterpart. She glanced at herself in the mirror. Puffiness made her dark, round orbs sink back into her face and hold light as well as unpolished granite. After assessing her tired figure, she decided to get some sleep. She had thirteen hours before she left Chennai. At the same time, Mira understood not even a good night's sleep would prepare her for the longest journey of her life.

The sun only began to creep over the horizon line when Mira emerged from her slumber. She nibbled on some rava umpa while waiting in the building's threshold for the company car. After an hour, the car arrived, teetering under the weight of suitcases tied to the roof. Mira gathered her belongings and headed over to the waiting vehicle.

The driver added her bags to the top of the hatchback vehicle while Mira slid in the back. With that, the driver climbed back in and shuttled her and two other gentlemen to the airport. As they traversed the roads of Chennai, one of the men removed a file from his attache case. He read over it for a few moments before addressing the others in the car.

"Mira, Sanjay," he said, "I have some information on the genetics sector of the Linderman Group. From I've read here, it seems we will have a lot of work to do when it comes to rebuilding and restructuring the sector."

"Restructuring?" Sanjay asked.

"Two of the sector's key employees have abandoned the company with two subjects the group was planning to evaluate. Both subjects were girls under the age of consent and are being treated as kidnapping victims.

"What do we know about the subjects?" Mira asked.

"Nothing specific, but interestingly, both were on the list formulated by Chandra Suresh."

"I thought we had discounted Doctor Suresh's work," she countered.

"We did," the other gentleman replied. "The Linderman Group did not. It turns out Doctor Suresh's list was getting them the results they wanted."

"Did Doctor Suresh work for the Linderman Group," Sanjay asked.

"Not as far as we can tell. It seems they had succeeded in getting his son involved."

"Mohinder," Mira mumbled.

The men glanced at Mira.

"Do you know this Mohinder Suresh, Mira?"Sanjay asked.

She nodded.

"How do you know him?"

"That's none of your business," Mira fired back. "However, I do know that after his father's funeral, Mohinder returned to New York. His mother told me his work visa had been approved."

"Do you know how long the visa was valid?"

Mira shook her head. "I don't think Mohinder would share that information with anyone in India."

The car arrived at the airport just as the sun's glow washed Chennai in shades of pink and gold. It took the efforts of all four of them to bring down the luggage and haul it to the check in desk. All the while, Mira contemplated the new information. She soon realized she could not wait to start her work in the United States.

First he heard the beeping. Then he heard distant chatter. When he opened his eyes, he encountered an austere wall of white. Only a pair of green chairs and off white cabinets provided any semblance of color in the room. Feeling the sheets and glancing at the rest of the room, he figured out where he was and located the call button. A few seconds later, a petite woman with alabaster skin and light brown hair ambled to his bedside.

"Good evening, Mister Petrelli," she chirped in a lilty accent.

"Nathan," he whispered.

The nurse looked at him. "Who's Nathan?"

"Nathan Petrelli. He's my brother. He was just elected to Congress."

At that, the nurse shook her head. "The news reports that Nathan Petrelli washed up on the shores of Clare this morning. He was thoroughly burned."

"Burned? Clare?"

"I'm sorry...Peter. I didn't realize that you were related. I thought it was just a coincidence."

Peter's lip trembled. "Then where..."

"You're in Bexhill Hospital. You washed up on our shores two days ago."

Peter continued to stare at the nurse as he attempted to shake the lingering grogginess muddling his mind. "Bexhill?"

"In England," she replied. "We only knew your name because that part of your identification card had not melted. For some reason, the top half stayed somewhat in tact. We didn't know who to contact."

"How did I end up all the way in England?"

The nurse shrugged. "That's what we've been trying to figure out."

With that, the nurse obtained Peter's vitals before heading back to the nurses' station.

Peter stayed up a good portion of the night, half watching television and half spacing out. When the news reports aired, they spent a mere minute covering Nathan's death and the unceremonious discovery of his body off the western coast of Ireland. All Peter could do was lie in bed and assess his current state. His hands, arms and torso were wrapped, but the bandages remained a crisp snow white on the surface. He glanced at the monitors and determined he was healthy enough to be discharged. As he contemplated a hasty escape, he realized that even if he could leave, he was nowhere near home and had no means of getting there. Part of him wondered if he even wanted to return. Out of ideas, he settled on getting some sleep.

A force lifting his arm drew Peter out of his slumber. He attempted to open his eyes, but the glare of the white room overwhelmed his orbs. Squeezing them shut, he watched a montage of images from the explosion. In his mind, his glowing hands, Nathan's stoic expression and flashes of yellow-white flickered like someone pushing the buttons on a microfilm machine. He heard a yell certain to wake the dead but found he was the source of it.

"Mister Petrelli! Calm down!" a voice barked.

Peter opened his eyes and saw the other people in the room hovering over him. Two appeared to be doctors while the third looked like the nurse he talked to earlier. When he saw they were okay, he struggled to sit up straight and catch his breath.

"What...happened?" he asked in between huffs of breath.

"You tell us," one of the men answered. "We came in to examine your injuries, and you just started screaming like you saw the devil."

"The explosion," Peter mumbled.

"Explosion?" the other man asked.

"Me," Peter replied. "I killed Nathan. He...died."

The three medical personnel members swapped curious glances.

"Explosion," one of them finally mumbled. "How could you kill...Nathan in an explosion?"

Peter fixed them a look. "You wouldn't believe me. No one would."

"What do you mean?" the nurse asked.

"I am radioactive."

The nurse shot a worried glance at the men.

"Let's get him tested," the men chorused.


	3. Arrival

"Damn! I'm later than I thought."

Shawn threw on a jacket and grabbed her purse before running out the door. By some sort of miracle she managed not to trip over herself before stopping at the green Honda Accord idling at the end of her driveway. She could see Yolanda watching her from the inside and stumbled into the passenger's seat.

"You sure you're awake there, Shawn?" Yolanda asked.

Shawn rolled her eyes. "Forgive me for actually getting some sleep."

"Touchy, touchy," her friend muttered as she shifted the sedan into drive.

The women cruised down Boynton Beach Boulevard with the windows half open. Had their speed generated less background noise, they would have rolled the windows all the way down to take advantage of the crisp but not too cold air that made Florida a treat in the autumn months. Only amber streetlights and the waxing moon cut through the inky skies. They wove their way through the seasonal traffic on their way to the east side of town, ready for an evening of casual dining and preparing for asylum.

After parking and finding the restaurant, Shawn and Yolanda made their way to a secluded booth near the kitchen. Once the waiter took their drink order, they got down to business.

"Well, Shawn, they should be arriving soon," Yolanda said as she looked at the front of her menu.

"And of course they have to arrive when I'm scheduled to work. Shit. My house is a disaster area," Shawn grumbled.

"Need help cleaning?"

Shawn cocked an eyebrow. "Don't you have to work tomorrow?"

"I'm on call, so I don't think it will matter."

"I figured as much."

The waiter returned and interrupted their conversation to drop off their cocktails. Yolanda proceeded to order, prompting Shawn to pick a dish at random from the menu. With that, the waiter left shaking his head as he retreated to the kitchen.

"Damnit," Shawn hissed once the waiter left. "Must you always make me do that?"

Yolanda giggled. "Betcha wish you could see through menus and such."

Shawn extended her middle finger and flashed it in Yolanda's general direction. "At least I don't read those shock rags that litter your house."

"What can I say?" Yolanda asked with a shrug. "I'm hoping to find some proof that we're not the only weirdos."

This comment made the redhead clench her napkin. "You know damn well we're not, Malloy. The company knows about all of us."

Yolanda cast a worried glance at her friend. "About the company..."

"I think they're going to rebuild it. It seems Thompson and Linderman are dead. When I went in for my last eval, I overheard something that sounded like a contingency plan."

"A contingency plan?"

"Yes. Would you like me to tap one of them so I can get it verbatim?"

Yolanda watched Shawn close her eyes. "Looks like I don't get a choice in the matter."

Meanwhile, Shawn channeled herself into the moment when she overheard the details of the contingency plan. She saw herself on an examination table with electrodes stuck to her temples. From there, she moved toward a room adjacent to where she found her past self. She spotted Thompson and a towering woman in a tan business suit looking over some papers. One of the charts they had spanned the desk. Afraid they would spot her, Shawn moved just to the right of the door frame and made an attempt to listen.

To her chagrin, Shawn discovered she could hear very little despite her proximity to the open door. What she did hear reiterated the bare minimum information: that the company was going to develop a plan for a transfer of leadership. Just as she was about to return to the present, Shawn heard the woman mention three specific names.

"So the genetics sector will be run by agents from L'Aura, Yamagato and The Fountain."

Thompson murmured an assent. Shawn inched closer to the door frame, but she could not pick up anymore of the conversation. All she heard were indecipherable whispers and the rustling of paper products. She waited a couple minutes before returning to her present time. Once she returned, she opened her eyes and snapped her fingers to alert Yolanda.

Her fellow surgeon looked up from an intense study of the champagne colored table linens. "Find out anything?"

Shawn picked up her martini glass and took a swig. "Only a few names of corporations."

Yolanda arched an eyebrow. "Names of corporations?"

"Yeah," Shawn replied. "They'd supposedly run the genetics sector of the company."

"Would we know any of them?"

"We're familiar with Yamagato, but there were two names that sound like...newer companies or something."

"Think they could be international branches?"

Shawn shrugged. "Possibly. It's hard to say for sure. I couldn't get any further information about either of them."

"I wonder if they have any stake in biotechnology. From what I understand, Yamagato's forays are not that impressive."

"I don't know."

After dinner, Yolanda and Shawn returned to her villa for an all night cleaning session. They churned through several loads of laundry and a box of trash bags. Shawn opened the sofa bed in the spare bedroom while Yolanda rearranged dressers to provide extra storage for the guests. By sunrise, the women fought to keep their eyes open. Still, they pushed on to make the beds and stash knick knacks that got in the way. Yolanda left once those tasks were accomplished, and Shawn fell on the couch still adorned in her cleaning clothes.

"Okay, Molly, we're approaching exit 86. Where do we go from there?"

Molly played with her seatbelt and looked at Mohinder. "You make a right once we're off the ramp."

"From there?"

The little girl picked up a piece of paper on the floor near the gear shaft. She peered at the near-microscopic handwriting before continuing. "We go to El Clair Ranch and make a U-turn."

"Is Shawn LeLand at his house?" Mohinder asked.

Molly closed her eyes for a moment. "She."

At that, Mohinder looked at the girl as he tried to figure out what she meant by that single word.

"Shawn LeLand," Molly replied. "A girl."

"What? You mean Shawn's a kid, too?"

Molly shook her head. "I think she's a little younger than you."

Mohinder glanced at the sun kissed Florida landscape surrounding them. "Oh. Okay."

After exiting the Turnpike and making a couple wrong turns upon entering the development, Mohinder pulled the black Nissan Sentra into the concrete space in front of Shawn's villa. Molly glanced at the paper and peered through the windshield at the exterior of the house.

"This is it," Molly said.

Mohinder flashed a weak smile and looked at the maroon Camry parked next to their car. "Looks like she's home."

"She doesn't work?" Molly asked.

"I don't know. We'll find out soon enough."

The duo stumbled out of the car, squinting once they were immersed in the Florida sunshine. After a short walk, Mohinder knocked on the faded brown door, and they waited for a few moments for a response. Just as they were about to go back to the car, they heard the click of a lock. A woman with light red hair splayed in various directions opened the door. She leaned against the door frame and focused on the two people in front of her.

"What the hell is this?" she asked.

Mohinder's mouth fell open. "Excuse me? I do have a child with me."

Shawn blinked. "Oh. Jeez, I'm sorry. Are you Mohinder Suresh?"

The geneticist nodded. "And the young girl with me is Molly Walker."

Molly looked up from her spot next to Mohinder and waved.

"I'm Shawn LeLand," the groggy woman replied. "Come in."

The three made their way into the house, and Shawn managed to wake up enough to give a tour of her small home. Once Mohinder and Molly became familiar with the territory, they dragged in their belongings from the car. Shawn whipped up some turkey and cheese sandwiches as a late lunch for all of them. They gathered in the living room space to eat and get acquainted. Shawn took the sky blue couch while Molly dragged Mohinder to the futon. Molly curled up with the hand knit sun, moon and stars blanket and used Mohinder's lap as a pillow. Mohinder, meanwhile, nibbled on a sandwich while soaking in the surroundings.

"So," Shawn mumbled, "how was the drive down here?"

"Not too bad," Mohinder replied. "Aside from the traumatizing visit to South of the Border, I managed to get through the trip relatively unscathed."

"But the Ferris Wheel was fun," Molly interjected. "And I remember you laughed at the jumping beans."

"Yes, that was amusing," Mohinder conceded. "Still, it was just too...colorful for my taste."

"This coming from a man who lived in southern India," Shawn mused. 

Mohinder chugged from a bottle of water. "Yes, but those colors serve a purpose."

"So do the ones at South of the Border."

"Yes. To scare everyone."

The three of them burst out laughing at Mohinder's retort.

"Well, when you put it that way..." Shawn mumbled. "Anyway, I'm going to take a shower. Have to work tonight."

"Where do you work?" Molly asked.

"At the hospital."

"Oh, okay. Are you a nurse?"

Mohinder flinched at the n word, a motion Shawn caught in her peripheral vision.

"Actually," she replied, "I'm a trauma surgeon."

"Does that mean you fix people who are traumatized?"

Shawn and Mohinder chuckled.

With that, Shawn disappeared into her bedroom. For a while, Mohinder sat on the futon, stroking Molly's hair as she drifted off to sleep. He spotted the remote control on the mahogany coffee table but decided to enjoy the quiet blanketing the room. The sound of Shawn running the shower soothed Mohinder, and he soon joined Molly in dozing.

"Here you are, Miss Shenoy."

Mira joined the young man in dress slacks and ecru polo in front of the matte black door. The man fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked it, gaining access to Mira's home away from home. Opening it, they saw a sprawling suite. They wandered in, and Mira noted the warm seating area that greeted them. Her guide placed her suitcases by the tan leather couch dominating the seating area. She made her way to the bedroom, which contained a large bed draped with a red comforter, a walk-in closet and an unobstructed view of the plaza's courtyard, where the red continued in the abstract sculpture. Across the room was the well appointed bathroom complete with shower, whirlpool tub and dressing area. Mira emerged from the bedroom and found the man still standing by the couch.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"It's nice," she replied. "Linderman treated his visitors quite well."

"Indeed he did. The office is right over here. You have wi-fi, ethernet, data port and faxing services available. There is a phone list on the desk with all the numbers and extensions you will need."

"Thank you. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get some rest."

"Understood. If you do need anything at anytime, just call."

"I will."

With that, the guide left the room. Once he closed the door, Mira retrieved her larger suitcase and dragged it to the bedroom. After some unpacking, she gathered what she needed for a bath. While she soaked, Mira pondered the information she received on her way to the United States. She wondered if she would be able to view the list created by Chandra Suresh. During the flight, Sanjay mentioned something about Mohinder creating an updated version of the list, but his phrasing made it sound like a rumor. Mira hoped tomorrow would bring an answer to this teasing query.

The next day heralded Mira's first full day in her new job. After a quiet breakfast in her room, she made her way to the 48th floor for a meeting. To her surprise, she found Kaito Nakamura chairing the meeting. He had visited her department at The Fountain a year ago, but she did not know the extent of his involvement in the genetics sector. She was also surprised at his fluency in English.

"Good morning," he greeted the group. "Now that everyone has arrived from L'Aura, Yamagato and The Fountain, I'd like to get you started on the rebuilding of the genetics sector here in the Linderman Group."

Kaito sipped some water before continuing. "The nine of you assembled here will be the upper tier management of the sector. You will be in charge of the hiring of new assocites, continuing the the search for specials and promoting additional genetic research."

The next 45 minutes of the meeting consisted of getting the new managers caught up to speed on the management structure of the Group and current projects still labeled as ongoing in the organization. Mira tried to act enthused, but her mind kept wandering to the list. After a while, Kaito declared a break in the meeting. The new managers stayed in the conference room to nibble on fruits and pastries. Mira sat evaluating her choices when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Looking up, she found Kaito standing next to her.

"Mister Nakamura," she said.

"Would you mind if we stepped outside?" he asked her.

Mira shook her head, and they made their way out of the conference room.

Once they were in the hallway, Kaito lead her away from the door. They made their way to the elevator lobby to talk.

"What is important enough to merit a private conversation?" Mira asked.

"I've heard you know Mohinder Suresh," Kaito replied. "Maybe you could help us find him."

"I am of the belief that both Suresh men were pursuing fallacies."

"Miss Shenoy, I strongly suggest you set those beliefs aside."

Mira cocked her head at the Japanese elder. "Why would you say that?"

"Because these people are real. The Sureshes merely found a way to know who they are and where they're located."

"This is impossible! People do not have the ability to clone themselves or move objects with their minds or anything of that sort "

"Miss Shenoy, I've learned that my son can bend space and time."

At that, Mira's eyes widened, and she stumbled into a silk Ficus tree behind her. "So they were right."

Kaito nodded. "And Mohinder has taken it upon himself to protect one of them, an orphaned girl with the ability to track people's locations."

"Like a GPS system," Mira mumbled as she got back on her feet.

"Exactly. Now I'm about to tell everyone what their exact jobs will be. However, I wanted to tell you that you will be responsible for tracking down the individuals with the ability to absorb abilities. It is a difficult yet prestigious job, and because of that, I wanted to inform you first."

Mira nodded, a wan smile crossing her lips. "Who had that job?"

"A man named Richard Thompson. He was working with Mohinder immediately before his death."

"On what?"

"Curing the orphaned girl of a very rare disease."

"Interesting."

"Indeed. Now let's get back to the meeting."

Once the meeting ended, Mira made her way to what had been Thompson's office. She took the elevator two floors up, passing an extensive laboratory on the way to the office. Upon arrival, Mira searched Thompson's inbox and filing cabinets in search of any connection between him and Mohinder. Her search proved fruitless. In the process, though, she stumbled across a USB drive. Curious, she took it to the computer perched on the desk. After a little fiddling with the electronic beast, she accessed the contents of the drive, clicking through files before finding the list. Opening the list threw Mira for a loop.

When she opened the list, she found nearly ten thousand names and locations. Many on the first page were from the United States, but Mira soon spotted names from other parts of the world: New Zealand, China, Japan, Iraq, Kenya and even her homeland. She sat and read through the list for hours. Just as she was about to close it and get some dinner, she spotted a familiar name toward the bottom of the page.

Ananda Shenoy.

Pulsing bass shook the plywood under Ananda's green and black Pumas as she worked her magic in the booth. As the synthesized strings sang through the numerous rooms in the club, the deejay bobbed her head and tweaked the equalizer. She looked around at the grinding masses. Her light man bathed the patrons in an electric blue wash with white dots circulating at random intervals. Nothing stood out on the dance floor, but a twinkle at the bar diverted Ananda's attention. She prepped the transition between the two remixes queued in the CD player so she could focus on what was happening at the bar.

Ananda fixed a monocular to her right eye and scanned the bar for anything that would provoke a reflection. She found a small clear bottle resting near the drink rail. The bartender set two drinks by the bottle, and a man blocked her view of the contents on the bar. Ananda backed up and saw the man grab the drinks off the bar. She looked at the bottle, which was a little emptier at this point, and she refocused her attention on the man. After seeing his face, she set the monocular on the console.

"Roland!" she shouted.

Her light man looked up from the control panel. "What now, Ananda?"

"There's a small bottle on the bar with a dropper lid. Fetch it before anyone else uses it!"

"Another GHB user?"

"What else?"

Roland shook his head. "I swear, Ananda. You never let these go."

She shook her head. "Hell no. Now chip!"

With that, Roland left, shouting something about hiring someone to go on these semi-covert ops. Ananda, ignoring his rant, focused her attention on the hunter she spotted at the bar. She listened to the downbeat before shifting her thoughts. Fixing her eyes on the man, she channeled all her thoughts to him. Once she could no longer think about him having a permanent flaccid dick, she shook her head. If Ananda had her way, she would have just tapped him on the shoulder, which was more accurate and required less energy than using her mind to alter the subject's physiology. Instead, she watched as he looked down at his pants in bewilderment. The man dropped the drinks and sprinted to the bathroom, leaving the girl to glance at him and then the broken glass and alcohol pooled at her feet.

"Perfect," Ananda whispered before turning her attention back to the music.

Through the darkness, Peter heard the din of everyday hospital activity. He could hear and feel his surroundings, not to mention the effects of the tests the doctors put him through. His skin still itched from the sensation of needle pricks all over his body, and he could still hear the rolling of the gurney in his head. In spite of the countless invasions of privacy, all Peter could do was lie in bed and wait for it all to be over. So he kept his eyes shut and listened for any indication of being subjected to another test. Footsteps right next to his bed interrupted his aural vigil.

"Are you awake, Peter?"

Peter opened his right eye and found one of the doctors standing next to him.

"I'll take that as a yes," the doctor continued. "Anyway, we ran some tests. You're not radioactive. If anything...your injuries are one hundred percent healed."

Peter opened his other eye and scanned his body. His arms had returned to their natural creamy color, and he soon found the only fabric on him was his hospital gown. He braved touching his head only to find his floppy locks had disappeared.

"I...I'm not?" he asked.

The doctor shook his head. "If we could release you, we would."

"What do you mean?"

"Well...you're not here legally, and we have had no luck in contacting your family."

Peter pushed himself into a reclining position. "Try calling my mother, Angela Petrelli."

"We've tried to call her three times at three different phone numbers. She hasn't answered."

"What about Heidi, my brother's wife?"

"She answered, but the connection was cut just as quickly."

"Have you called my niece? Claire?"

The doctor rubbed his forehead. "No, we haven't. Do you know where we can reach her?"

Peter lay there, trying to think of her phone number. Every time he saw Claire in his mind, he only saw the girl holding a gun at him and unable to control the deluge of tears streaming down her face. He shook his head.

"No, I can't," he finally replied. "Maybe you can find her adoptive father, Noah Bennet."

The doctor nodded. "We'll see what we can do. Until we know that you can be discharged properly, though, you'll have to stay here."

Peter mumbled an assent, and the doctor left the room to continue his rounds.

This time, Peter spent his sleepless night watching it turn into day as the sun rose over Bexhill. Another nurse stopped by to take his vitals, and he asked her for something to read. She returned with the day's copy of _The Times_. He flipped through it and stumbled upon his brother's name in the headlines. According to the article, Nathan's body had been confirmed with dental records and shipped back to the States. The funeral was set for November 17. Peter checked the date on the front of the paper. He found he only had one day at the most to return to New York. He threw the paper on the bed before burying his face in his hands. For a moment, he wept without sobs as he struggled to comprehend his predicament. As he cried, Peter figured out what he needed to do.

He strode through the halls of the hospital until he found the exit. As he walked out the door, he heard one of the janitors mumble something about the hospital ghosts opening the doors just to drive the staff crazy. Peter chuckled at the comment but stopped laughing when he realized he could not feel his toes or testes. Cursing himself for walking out in a flimsy cotton gown, he snuck into a clothing store that had just opened. He stared at the racks, trying to figure out the English clothing size system. After a little searching and guessing, he found what appeared to be adequate pieces for a transatlantic flight. He snuck into a fitting room, and once he was dressed, he snuck out the back. Standing in the lot behind the store, Peter took several deep breaths to help clear his mind. He crouched a bit and propelled himself into the air. It was time to go home.


	4. Beyond What the Eye Can See

"Watch me, Mohinder! " Molly shouted from the monkey bars.

"I'm watching!"

With that, Molly crossed the bars, hands skipping over every other one. She made it to the platform on the other side and swung her legs up for the landing. When she planted her feet firmly on the platform, Mohinder clapped and cheered.

"That was excellent, Molly," he said as a luminous smile crossed his face.

Shawn looked over at the beaming man. "This is the happiest I've seen you since you got here."

Mohinder shrugged. "It's just good to see her active. She's been so sick."

"From what?"

"A virus that basically broke down her blood. The transfusions seem to be working."

Shawn arched an eyebrow. "Transfusions?"

"My blood," Mohinder said. "I discovered I was immune to it. So I did some transfusions, and Yolanda says that her body is able to ward off the virus."

At that, Shawn smirked. "How did Yolanda deduce this?"

"She wouldn't tell me."

"Oh, now that ruins half the fun."

"What do you mean?"

Shawn sipped some soda. "You mean to tell me Yolanda hasn't told you what she can do?"

Mohinder shook his head and then stared at Shawn, a smile creeping on his lips. "What she can do? As in...an ability?"

It was Shawn's turn to smile. "Oh, you better believe it! She has an ability, alright. Torments me with it all the time, joking that her ability is better than mine."

"What can she do?"

The surgeon chuckled. "The woman has super vision."

Mohinder's mouth fell open. "Super vision?"

"Yeah. Yolanda can see infrared, ultraviolet, straight through solid objects and has incredible binocular range. She says it caused her some problems as a kid."

"How so?"

"Two cataract operations, seeing her parents have sex behind closed doors, shit like that."

Mohinder nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like a bit much for a child. How old was she when she realized she could see through solid objects?"

"As far as I know, that happened when she was eight. She actually started to see waves outside the visible light spectrum when she was five, I think."

The geneticist rubbed his face and shoook his hair in an attempt to digest this new information. "I thought my father was crazy in believing that people with these...abilities existed. Now, I feel like the freak."

Shawn flashed him a thin smile. "Trust me, Mohinder. You don't want an ability."

"Yours has given you that much trouble?"

"Seeing what people go through...gruesome..." Shawn mumbled. She looked out toward the parking lot and sniffled.

"I'm sorry," Mohinder whispered as he grasped the redhead's shoulder.

"No," Shawn choked out as she shook him off. "Just keep an eye on Molly."

Shawn sprung up from the bench and sprinted away from the playground. She sprinted down a trail that ran parallel to the Intracoastal Waterway. After some running, she stumbled and fell on an Australian Pine just off the pavement. Leaning against the tree trunk, Shawn tried to calm her breathing. However, she could not prevent tears from slipping out of her eyes. For a moment, she sobbed while visions of people's deaths flooded her mind. Her last vision was of a burst of yellow-white light and clouds parting from the force of the blast. Emerging from that vision, she found herself in a tapping session.

A ray of light trickled into the room through the circular window. Shawn took a step, but the light did little good in keeping her from running into what must have been a desk. Rubbing the outside of her thigh, Shawn spotted a strip of golden light on the floor. She sank to the floor and crept toward the strip. The sound of running water made her realize she was near the bathroom. Still, she crept closer. In spite of the water, Shawn heard what sounded like gasps for breath clashing with something squishy.

"Thank god I do not have the ability to see through this door," Shawn muttered when she realized what the sounds were.

The strip of light provided no help for figuring out how to get out of the room. Shawn sat outside the bathroom trying to determine which way the door opened. A cry from the other room interrupted her ponderations.

"Peter!"

Shawn flinched at the cry. For a moment, she tried to place the voice. She heard the water being turned off followed by incoherent mumbling. After some more eavesdropping, Shawn realized Mohinder was in the bathroom. When she heard the knob turn, she slid on the floor, not stopping until she figured she was under the bed. She saw the door open, and she gagged on the steam escaping the bathroom. Meanwhile, Mohinder went about getting ready for bed. Every once in a while, he mumbled something about Peter, but within minutes, he fell asleep. Shawn stayed under the bed, trying to decide what to do. Just as she gathered up the courage to heard for the door, she heard a ringing sound. The ringing grew more shrill, prompting Shawn to clap her hands over her ears. She blinked and found herself back in the present. The ringing sound turned out to be her phone. Scrambling, she fished it out of her pocket of her gray hoodie to take the call.

"LeLand," she uttered into her phone.

"Good afternoon, Shawn," a humming baritone cooed. "How goes the asylum?"

Shawn cleared her throat. "Not too bad. Molly's health is improving from what Mohinder has told me."

"Good," Bennet replied. "Any word on Mohinder's visa?"

"The extension should be approved by tomorrow. He's already started applying for a Green Card and a job."

"Any good prospects?"

"He's interviewing for a visiting professor spot at FAU. The green card process might take a while, though."

"Okay. What will Mohinder be doing in the mean time?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Alright."

After a moment of silence, Shawn pressed on. "So...just calling to check up? That doesn't sound like you, Bennet."

"Actually, I need to ask you and Molly a couple favors."

Shawn sighed and leaned back into the tree trunk. "Look, I'll do whatever you want, but leave the kid alone. I don't think that she's had a normal life for a while."

"Shawn, does the name Petrelli ring a bell?"

For a moment, she contemplated this. "Yeah. He's that guy that was burned to death."

"That guy, as you call him, has a brother, Peter Peterelli. I need you to find out what has happened to Peter."

Shawn looked up and saw Mohinder and Molly strolling down the trail. "Why?"

"He was in a Bexhill hospital yesterday, but somehow, he's gone missing."

"Oh, Jesus H. Christ, Bennet! What the hell do you expect me to do?"

"What you do best. Call me on my cell when you find out."

"If you insist..."

"Shawn, he has the potential to go nuclear. As in explode."

"And you've seen this in action."

"Yes!"

"Okay! Okay! Damn, Bennet. Always the high strung bastard."

"Yeah, well, I need the information, the sooner the better."

"I'm on it."

Shawn hung up the phone right as her charges approached the tree. Molly chattered to Mohinder about something but stopped when the two of them arrived at the tree. She waved at Shawn, who waved back with the hand holding her phone.

"What brings you out here?" Mohinder asked.

"Business call," Shawn answered.

"I'm sure. Now why are you out here under this tree? I have a certain someone pestering me for lunch."

Shawn glanced at a grinning Molly. "Really. I think that as her surrogate dad it's your responsibility to provide her meals."

Molly giggled, and Mohinder replied, "She insists we have company for lunch, specifically some redheaded company."

That comment earned them a good-natured eye roll from Shawn. "Oh, okay. When you put it that way, let's go. I know of a good deli in the area."

After the park escapades (including lunch), the trio returned to Shawn's villa. While Molly napped, Shawn and Mohinder convened in the living room. During lunch, Shawn mulled over Bennet's request. After learning of the existence of Peter Petrelli and accidentally tapping Mohinder's past, Shawn tried to determine if there was a connection. She kept quiet while Mohinder flipped through the channels. He settled on a Discovery Channel special devoted to the processes for making various goods. Shawn tried to pay attention, but the urge to find out about Peter tugged at her brain. After a few minutes of failing miserably in her quest to pay attention to the process of making erasers for pencils, Shawn retreated to her bedroom.

Once in her room, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes. In seconds, she found herself in a hospital. For a moment, the surgeon listened for clues as to her exact whereabouts. Her eavesdropping only revealed that she was in a coastal town in England. Once she figured out that town was Bexhill, she went to the reception desk to find out where Peter Petrelli was located. After some walking, Shawn arrived at the room. A young man with no hair and a mix of burns and pallor lay in a gurney, oblivious to the world. Shawn stepped closer to the bed.

"Peter?" she asked. "Can you hear me?"

She watched the man for any signs of conscious comprehension.

"Peter, if you can hear me, raise your right hand."

Peter continued to lie motionless. Shawn stepped away from the bed and peeked into the hallway. No one lingered in the hall, and she determined that the nurses' station was far enough away that no one would be able to hear her.

"Okay, Peter. I need you to do me a favor. Yeah, I know I'm a doctor, and I'm taking a big gamble. Just bear with me. Things have gotten really weird really quickly. I think you can sympathize. Anyway, I need you to memorize this phone number. Call it as soon as you leave the hospital."

For a moment, Shawn observed Peter in his unconscious state. The top of his head was wrapped in bandages turning yellow from pus. She also noted his bald head and scorched scalp. Looking at his arms, Shawn saw more of the same and wondered what exactly had happened to him. The doctor in her wondered what the medical staff had done to keep him alive; the mind-tapping part of her wondered how bad the head trauma was to keep him fron healing. After reevaluating the activity of the ward, she turned to face Peter once again.

"Okay," she muttered. "The number is five six one, seven two two, eight nine four eight. Expect either Mohinder or myself to answer. Please call. There are people looking for you, looking to you for help. Just let us know where you are."

Shawn walked away from the bed and leaned against wall. Shutting her eyes, she steadied her brain waves in preparation of finding Peter in a different time. After a couple moments, she opened her eyes to a beach. Though the skies were still dark, faint light illuminated the shoreline enough to give Shawn a basic sense of direction. The faint sunrise guided Shawn's eyes east while incandescent porch lights behind her hinted at civilization brave enough to spend their days on the shoreline even as winter approached. Aside from waves lapping at the sand, Shawn shivered at the lack of sound in the area.

"Peter, where are you?" she whispered.

Just as the words left her mouth, Shawn heard an unidentifiable sound overhead. She peered at the sky and spotted what looked like a shooting sar coursing westward through the atmosphere. She shook her head. That wasn't Peter, was it? she thought. It looked like a shooting star, but it was too small to be that. Realizing she had no idea where she was, Shawn decided to leave the shoreline.

The surgeon wandered the narrow streets, looking for any clues as to her location. During her walk, all she found was a car with a Virginia license plate. A gust of icy wind almost knocked Shawn over, and she wondered when Virginia autumns became so biting. She also had no idea what connection, if any, Peter had to that particular state. Just as she was about to travel a little further into Peter's past, a man walking his black lab approached her.

"Miss, you're going to catch a cold out here!" he shouted.

Shawn looked down at her brown polo shirt and faded jeans, having shed the hoodie when she had returned to her house. She looked back at the man and shrugged. "I'm okay. May I ask you a couple questions?"

"Um...sure."

"Where am I?"

The man looked Shawn over. "You're in East Atlantic Beach, New York. Where else would you be? I don't know of too many people who get lost and wander out here on a limb, especilly by foot."

"Well, sir, with all do respect, how I got here is a long story. Seeing as how you're out with your dog, I don't wish to keep you from your walk. However...if you know where Nathan Petrelli is to be buried, I'd appreciate that."

"Oh, that blowhard's funeral? Don't see why a girl like you would want to know. In any case, he's going to be buried at Long Island National over in Farmingdale. It's pretty close by."

"Thank you, sir," Shawn replied. "Enjoy the rest of your walk."

The man nodded at Shawn before they parted ways. Shawn closed her eyes and returned to the present. After a few moments, Shawn found she was in her bedroom. She heard Mohinder and Molly chatter through the door, and just behind their voices she heard the sound of a show on animals. The surgeon rubbed her face and noticed the chill still in her cheeks. Glancing at the cordless phone on her desk, she wondered what she was going to tell Bennet. This was when realized she had no exact dates or times for her findings. Without that information, she lacked the confidence to give Bennet the information he wanted. She rubbed her arms and tried to decide what to do next. A soft knock interrupted her ministrations. Sighing, she stood up and opened the door, finding Molly standing just outside the threshold.

"What's for dinner?" the blonde girl asked.

"Um..." Shawn muttered. "That's a good question."

Just then, a knock at the front door cut through their conversation. Shawn stepped around Molly to answer the knock. She found Yolanda standing on the doorstep, a smirk on her tan face.

"Hey, there," Yolanda chirped.

"Hey," Shawn muttered. "What brings you over?"

"Not much. Just wanted to stop by and say hi."

"Ah. Well, right now, I need to figure out what the three of us are going to have for dinner."

"Not used to feeding multiple people, are you?"

"Of course not."

"Well, since you're already feeding three mouths, will a fourth matter?"

Shawn shook her head. "Not at this point. Come in."

Yolanda obliged her friend and stepped into the house. The two surgeons sifted through the rather lean selection of foodstuffs in Shawn's kitchen. After the assessment and getting some input from the others, Shawn decided on cheese ravioli and the usual trimmings of an Italian style meal. She asked Yolanda to watch Molly and coaxed Mohinder into accompanying her to the grocery store.

Once in the grocery store, Mohinder grabbed a cart, and the two began their task of obtaining enough food to at least get them through the weekend. Shawn insisted on perusing each aisle and walked at a pace to rival the elderly patronage scooting through the store. All the while, Shawn worked in some questions about the Petrellis (centered on Peter) as they made their way through the aisles.

"Mohinder," she asked. "How did you meet Peter Petrelli?"

Mohinder tapped his fingers on the cart's handle. "Which time?"

Shawn tripped over her feet when she heard his response. She managed to grab a shelf holding boxes of crackers to keep from tumbling to the linoleum floor below. "What do you mean 'which time'? You only meet a person once."

"Well, the first time I met him, he only introduced himself as Peter. We met while I was driving a cab in New York."

"And...wait a minute. New York City?"

"Yes, New York City. Hey, how do you know about Peter Petrelli?"

"Um, that business call I got earlier? At the park?"

"Yes, I know which call to which you are referring."

"Well, I was asked to find Peter Petrelli and see what he was doing."

"How did you know I know him?"

"Um, well, I, er, accidentally tapped you in a rather private moment. I heard you call out for someone named Peter. I kind of assumed that it was Peter Petrelli."

With that, Shawn grabbed a box of Wheat Thins to conceal her red face. She peeked over the edge, waiting to see Mohinder's reaction to her revelation. Meanwhile, Mohinder, stared at her, trying to figure out what she meant.

"Shawn," he said, "what kind of private moment? When?"

"At night, sometime," she replied. "It sounded like you were masturbating in the shower."

Mohinder blushed so hard Shawn could see pink creep through the chocolate of his face. She tossed another him box of Wheat Thins. To her surprise, Mohinder caught it.

"They're two for five, anyhow," she told him.

Mohinder laughed and set the box in the cart. Then, he fixed her a look. "You sure it was an accident?"

She fixed him a Look, her hazel eyes darkening. "Mohinder, there are some things I'd rather not witness. That's one of them. Getting back on subject, how about it? Peter Petrelli."

"He'd read my father's book on evolution and showed up with it at my apartment some time after our cab meeting."

Shawn tugged on the cart, and they proceeded to the next aisle. "Why's that?"

"He wanted to show me that he was proof, well, in the sense that he could fly and draw the future in the presence of those that could."

"How did that go?"

Mohinder stared at the quarter filled cart. "He didn't come through. Without actually seeing this proof, I didn't believe him. I wanted to believe him, but I couldn't, and I will never forgive myself for it."

The geneticist sniffled and rubbed his eyes, oblivious to Shawn's robotic motions of adding broth packets and cans of soup to the cart. For all his efforts, Mohinder's actions only catalyzed more tears. His soft sniffles caught Shawn's attention. She moved to where he stood and snared him into a hug, uncaring of the other patrons of the aisles. Men with hiked-up pants and ladies wearing kitten sweatshirts shuffled by while staring at the duo standing in the aisle.

"Mohinder," Shawn said, "how were you to know? You did nothing wrong. You behaved like any skeptic would."

"But I soon found out how important he was, and I didn't protect him," Mohinder whispered. "He died...my fault that he died."

Shawn pulled away from Mohinder but gripped his shoulders. "No, Mohinder. Don't do this to yourself. Peter is alive. I saw him. He didn't die!"

Mohinder looked up, eyes half open and moist. "I'd like to believe you, too."

Shawn shrugged. "It's your choice, but I know when a person dies. I see it no matter where I am. Now let's go. Molly will attack us in hunger if we don't leave this place before closing."


	5. Family Matters

"Good morning, Mira."

Mira looked at the Japanese man that had entered the elevator. "Good morning, Kazuo."

"I figured you would be in the office this morning."

Mira tugged at her black blazer. "Nope. I still have lots of work to do, though."

"How so?"

"A couple agents and I are going to a funeral. One of our specials should be there."

"Who's that?"

"You know that's classified information. It'll be hard enough to catch this person without leaked information. We don't even know the extent of this person's abilities."

"Ah. Not having such vital information does complicate matters, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"Well, in that case, I wish you luck, Miss Shenoy."

Mira smiled. "Thank you, Kazuo."

The elevator doors opened at the ground floor, and the two newest Linderman Group managers strode into the lobby. Mira headed outside to a waiting car just outside the plaza. She slid into the backseat and sat in silence during the ride to Saint Patrick's Cathedral. Upon arrival, the chauffeur pulled up to the front of the cathedral and parked the car. He unzipped a bag and handed Mira a small microphone.

"The other two agents are already inside," he told Mira. "All of us, including their chauffeur, are wired to this microphone system. If anything goes wrong, use these to call for help."

"I will," Mira said. "When does the service begin?"

The chauffeur glanced at the car radio. "In about an hour. Careful. If what I hear is correct, the press will show up soon, if they're not here already."

Mira huffed. "Thanks for the warning. Is there anything else I should know?"

"No, Miss Shenoy. Might want to head inside. Your special might have shown up for the unofficial memorial service that should be going on right now."

Mira nodded and stepped out of the car, unaware of the pale bald man milling outside the cathedral.

Peter watched as Mira made her way into the cathedral. He glanced around Fifth Avenue, watching the cops cordon off part of the street in preparation of a politician's funeral. Grey clouds floated and hovered within feet of the church. People of all walks of life stood across the street and observed those on their way to the service. Friends, relatives and political cohorts of Nathan Petrelli filed into the building, their faces unflinching and eyes murky, arriving to mourn the loss of a flying man. After some hesitation, Peter decided to join those heading indoors. A stray thought entering his mind halted his walk.

_It's a shame they still haven't found Nathan's brother._

"But I'm here," Peter whispered. "I'm alive."

Nonetheless, he continued his trek into the cathedral.

Peter spent the bulk of the service in the back, averting his eyes from the flower draped coffin. The service itself lulled Peter into a state of self-loathing. Every time he tried to remember Nathan in a positive light like the priest suggested, he bemoaned how he robbed Nathan of his chance to do even more good. The only thought that comforted him was the fact that Nathan told Peter he loved him directly to his face.

On the opposite side of the cathedral, Mira scanned the crowd looking for Peter. After hearing people say Peter was still missing, the Indian woman wondered if there was even a chance of catching the empath at all. She asked over the radio system if anyone had seen any signs of him, but no one had anything to report. Frustrated, she sat through the rest of the somber service, careful not to draw attention to herself even though she was almost near the exit.

After the service, nearly 1000 people filed out of the cathedral for the lengthy processional to Farmingdale. Mira and the agents waited for most of the group to proceed before rendezvousing with their chauffeurs. Mira whistled to the others over the microphone and whispered that she was going to exit the building. On her way out, she passed a wooden boothlike structure unaware of its occupant.

Peter sat in the booth, waiting for everyone to exit the cathedral. As the sound of footsteps softened, he opened the door of the booth and peeked out to scan the area. Only a few people remained in the building, so Peter decided it was safe to leave. Once outside, he spotted the jet black hearse and matching funeral limousine just in front of the steps. He watched as cars assembled in line behind the two funeral vehicles. In minutes, the hearse and the limousine pulled into the street and headed south.

Mira entered her car, and her chauffeur pulled into the processional. The car inched along as they rounded the corner onto the avenue. As she surveyed the scenery, Mira heard a voice in her earpiece.

"What was that?" she asked.

"I said we have a lock on the target."

"Petrelli? Where is he?"

"Out front. We're going over."

"Alright. Just don't provoke him. I'll join you."

"Got him?" the chauffeur asked.

"Seems that way," Mira replied. "Find out where their driver is and join him. Give me a rendezvous point when I address him by his full name."

The chauffeur nodded, and Mira exited the car. She strode out, shivering in the chill of the late autumn afternoon. After some walking, she spotted the other agents standing on the steps, blocking her view of the empath. Mira sped up and scaled the steps. The agents moved apart, and she got her first glimpse at Peter.

"Peter Petrelli," she addressed him.

"52nd and Park," she heard her chauffeur mutter.

"Who are you?" Peter asked.

"I'm Mira Shenoy," she replied. "I work for the Linderman Group."

Peter's eyes widened. "Look, I only knew that Linderman contributed to Nathan's campaign. I can't give you any details because I don't know what they are."

Mira cocked an eyebrow before realizing his concerns had nothing to do with who he was. "I'm not here to discuss your brother or Linderman."

"Then what do you want?"

"I understand you know a man named Noah Bennet."

"And his daughter, Claire. She also happens to be my niece."

AT that, Mira stiffened. "I am well aware of that, Mister Petrelli."

"So what is it you want? You know, you picked the wrong time to confront me with cryptic statements and an even more unclear reason for seeking me out."

"Perhaps you would like to continue this discussion somewhere more hospitable, then."

"Not without knowing why you want to talk to me. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to say good bye to my brother."

With that, Peter stepped around the group in front of him. He descended the steps as fast as he could without tripping over himself. The other three exchanged looks before following Peter. However, Peter heard them turn around. He stopped walking and faced them.

"I said I'm going to say good bye to my brother," he growled.

Mira narrowed her eyes. "Mister Petrelli, if you would like to bid your brother farewell, at least ride with us."

"I don't think so, Shenoy, not when I don't know you or what you want."

Peter crouched at the knees before launching himself into the air. Mira and the gents followed his vertical trajectory as he sailed through the cloudy, snow-threatening sky. After a moment, Mira shook her head.

"Where's he going?" one of the agents asked.

"Probably Long Island National Cemetery," she replied before pulling her microphone toward her face. "Bring the cars back to the cathedral. We're going to the cemetery."

Meanwhile, Peter flew in line with the processional. He loathed flying to his own brother's burial. Between trying to shake the three pseudo-anonymous interrogators and not having a clue as to the location of the burial site, Peter had no choice but to opt out of more conventional forms of transportation. Instead, he maintained an altitude that enabled him to not be visible from the ground. He followed the processional into the cemetery. Once he found the burial site, Peter touched down fifty yards to the east and walked the remainder of the way.

The service was brief but laden with all the rituals of a military burial. Peter flinched at the rounds of gunfire. Each round conjured memories of the explosion, and Peter almost felt the heat rip through his skin and bones. In his mind, he saw Nathan's mild expression of terror twist his facial features and a tear glistening in his brother's eye. Nathan mouthed his name right before the blast knocked him unconscious. Opening his eye, he saw Heidi accept a triangular folded flag, sandwiching it between her hands. Near her, Simon and Monty fidgeted and looked at their mother. He heard their voices ring in his head as they silently asked why their Mommy got a flag. They also asked where their Daddy went and why he wasn't coming back. Peter sniffled at their questions. He wanted to cuddle his nephews and tell them that wherever Daddy went he would be okay. He knew such words did not hold any truth.

As the ceremony reached its conclusion, Mira and the agents stepped out of their cars. They headed to the group gathered around the casket, disturbing the grass underfoot. Peter heard their footsteps and faded out of view. He turned and searched for the people who confronted him after the service at the cathedral. Once he found them, he watched them weave their way through the crowd. After they began lowering Nathan into the ground, he watched Mira and the others approach his mother. He knew his mother thought they were crazy and smiled a little when she dismissed them. Once their cars left, Peter made his way to Nathan's grave. He waited until his relatives left before walking over to see the casket.

"Good bye, Nathan," he whispered.

He blinked and watched a tear fall on the casket.

The alarm clock shook Shawn out of a deep sleep. Glancing at it, she found noon had arrived. Sitting up and stretching, she listened for any activity in the house. She heard Molly talking about how Santa Claus was a fake. The child's comments were followed by a soothing baritone that almost lulled the surgeon back to sleep. However, Shawn realized she needed to have dinner ready in about six hours. As she slid out of bed, she wondered why she agreed to make a Thanksgiving meal for six people.

The sounds of the bedroom door opening and footsteps shuffling across the tile floor caught Molly's attention. "Morning, Shawn," she said.

Shawn smiled. "Morning Molly, Mohinder."

"Sleep much?" Mohinder asked with a teasing smile.

This earned Mohinder a well deserved glare. "It's not my fault I was the attending surgeon last night."

"I'm just kidding. I made some tea. It's in the fridge. Heat up as much as you'd like."

Shawn quirked an eyebrow. "You mean you found room in the fridge?"

Mohinder nodded.

"Thanks," Shawn mumbled. "So why are you guys up?"

"The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade was on," Molly piped up. "Mohinder and I went to the CVS and got some holiday peanut M&Ms."

"Sounds yummy, but don't eat too many. Otherwise, you won't have room for dinner tonight."

Molly nodded and scooped out a handful of candies from the bag. Meanwhile, Shawn assessed Mohinder, who was still decked out in a white t-shirt and green pajama pants covered with reindeer. Shawn doubled over laughing as she saw him wandering around the drugstore in that outfit.

"I can't believe you went to CVS in your PJs!" she exclaimed.

Mohinder blushed a little. "We only had fifteen minutes before the parade started."

Shawn sniggered. "Someone has you trained. Next year you'll be cruising around town in your underwear getting Ghiradelli chocolates for Peter!"

"Ooooooh!!" Molly giggled. "Mohinder has a crush on Peter!"

Mohinder buried his face in a chenille throw pillow. "Make it stop! Make it stop!"

At that, Shawn leaned on the futon and got herself under control. "Molly, leave Mohinder alone. Let me just get a shower, and then I gotta get cooking."

A few hours later, a knock interrupted Shawn's juggling act in the kitchen. She answered the door to find Yolanda and the parents Malloy standing outside. Each parent held covered trays while Yolanda carried a bundle of papers in her arms.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" they chorused.

"Happy Thanksgiving," Shawn replied. "Come on in."

The Malloy family entered the house, and Yolanda introduced her parents to Mohinder and Molly. She and her father joined the guests in watching _The Incredibles_ while her mother retreated to the kitchen, where Shawn was preparing mashed potatoes. Shawn looked up and saw the salt and pepper haired woman hovering in the entryway.

"Hello, Consuela," she said.

"Hello, Shawn. How goes life with the new house guests?"

"It goes. I don't know why I got stuck with it. Why didn't Bennet call upon Yolanda to do this? I can't deal with kids!"

"That's not what Yolanda tells me. Still having connection anxiety, aren't you?"

Shawn shrugged. "I've been too busy working to tell."

"And when you're not working, you're always with the man and young girl."

"Look, I'm just trying to help them and myself make the best of a really strange situation."

"Have you consulted your mentor about this?"

"Only once," Shawn mumbled while placing the potatoes in the convection oven. "It was before they arrived."

"Perhaps you should speak with him again, especially since Arnold Walker is in the process of filing the adoption papers."

"And since numerous tests have proven he is related to the girl, that process should be finished by New Year's Day. I haven't told Mohinder much about it because I've been trying to deal with another issue."

"What issue is that?"

Shawn leaned against the counter and beckoned Consuela to join her.

"Bennet's having me track down someone," Shawn whispered. "This someone is connected to Mohinder somehow. I'm not sure how."

"Who is it?"

"A man named Peter Petrelli."

Consuela nodded and looked at Shawn. "Is this man like you and my daughter?"

"Yeah. He seems to have multiple abilities, though. I'm not exactly sure how you can classify him."

"You say he is connected to Mohinder. How so? Is it related to his ability?"

A timer resting on the counter dinged. Shawn turned around and lowered the heat on the stove. She stirred the contents of a pot and lifted out a ladle. The gravy dripped from the ladle and onto Shawn's finger. She licked her finger and murmured something under her breath.

"Shawn, what about this connection between Mohinder and Peter?" Consuela pressed.

"It's not related to Peter's ability," Shawn replied. "I'm not really sure how it works. All I know is..."

"Is what, Shawn?"

"All I know is I need to consult another source."

"What's that?"

"You mean who, Consuela."

Consuela looked at the surgeon. "But Shawn, he's dead."

"He mailed something to me not too long ago. Maybe I need to open that package."

"Like opening that box your sister mailed you not long before her death."

At that, Shawn narrowed her eyes to slits. "You did not just say that."

Consuela shrugged. "Just a suggestion."

Dinner proceeded without much fanfare, with the exception of Molly and Yolanda fighting over the last drumstick. After everyone staggered away from the table drunk on turkey, Shawn began to clear the table. While she crammed dishes into her dishwasher, Mohinder came over and began rinsing the items that required hand washing. Shawn nodded at him in acknowledgment but continued her task.

"When were you going to tell me about the adoption?" Mohinder asked out of the blue, causing Shawn to back into the edge of her refrigerator.

"I was waiting until Arnold agreed and had completed the test. I just found out myself that he had filed the papers."

"Damnit, Shawn. I need to make sure Molly will be okay. I'm not sure how long this transfusion will last."

"Mohinder, she'll still be in Boynton Beach. He lives a couple developments over. Mohinder, admit it. You can't adopt her, not until you're a citizen."

Mohinder looked at Shawn and started to cry. "Shawn, she can't live like this, being shuttled from caretaker to caretaker."

"Connection anxiety. I get it, Mohinder. You can't let her go, like you can't let go of Peter."

"Like you can't seem to let go of your sister!"

"How the hell do you know about my sister?"

"Consuela told me."

"And why did she tell you?"

"Because we started talking about Isaac."

Neither Shawn nor Mohinder anticipated the smack that snapped Mohinder's head back. Mohinder stared at Shawn while Shawn stared at her hand. When they finally made eye contact, Mohinder saw tears on Shawn's eyes. Looking out, Mohinder saw the rest of the group looking at them. Molly's mouth hung open, and Consuela shook her head at him.

"How dare you mention Isaac or my sister!"

Shawn dashed out of the kitchen and grabbed her keys off the key rail. Before running out the door, she picked up a large manilla envelope on a table near the door. She ran out of the house, and the rest of the group heard her rev up her Camry. They heard her drive away over the sound of the movie they had been watching.

"Mohinder," Yolanda said, "why did you mention her sister?"

Mohinder shook his head. "She made a comment about Peter."

"Still not a good idea," was the reply he got. "Besides, she's onto something. You better come clean about Peter if you want her to forgive you.

In the car, Shawn gripped the steering wheel as she eased her Camry onto the Turnpike. She shifted her car to the left lane and made a beeline to the West Palm Beach Turnpike Plaza. After about twenty minutes, she pulled into a parking space and made her way to the tables. She sat at a table in the back of the eating area and opened the envelope. Inside the envelope was a large scarlet journal with a swirl brocade pattern. Breaking the brocade was a large S-like curve with short lines jutting out from random points. Shawn lifted the cover and saw a vivid colored pencil drawing of a large tower collapsing. Flipping through further pages, she saw drawings of faces of terror, scenes of her in local parks and pictures of Mohinder and Molly. Turning to the last page, she saw her in a room with a glass window blown out. An overall orange glow dominated the page, and Shawn saw herself clutching a file folder. Her face was outstretched in the picture as if she's looking for a way out. Shawn turned back a few pages and saw more pictures set in a similar environment, including one of Mohinder hugging a white man with short brown hair.

"Peter," she whispered.

With that, she set the book on the table and leaned back. Clearing her head, she stared ahead, thinking about what she had to do.


	6. Between the Past and the Future

Back at the villa, Mohinder put the dishes away while waiting for Yolanda to return from shuttling her parents home. He had already tucked Molly into bed and combined the necessary components for turkey stock into a pot now sitting in the refrigerator. All the while, he contemplated what he said to Shawn. Moreover, he wondered what was in the envelope she grabbed as she ran out the door. This train of thought led him to thinking about an issue of The Sun he read after they finished dessert. He closed the dishwasher door and made his way to the living room.

"There it is," he whispered.

He picked up the paper half dangling off the coffee table. Flipping through it, Mohinder found the story titled "Plan B, the Flimsy Phallus Night Club." According to the article, some young men who attended the club were rendered impotent even though they walked into the club in perfect health. Some unofficial research pointed to one of the club's frequent deejays as the cause of this phenomenon. Fascinated, Mohinder retrieved his laptop from behind the couch. After waiting for it to boot up, Mohinder Googled the deejay's name. To his surprise, Ananda Shenoy yielded four pages of results. He clicked on the club's website link, but it provided little information about the deejay. Mohinder continued clicking links until a knock at the door alerted him of Yolanda's return.

After letting Yolanda in the house, he dragged her to where he set up his computer. For a few minutes, he showed her everything he found, including the photos of the Indian deejay.

"Mohinder," Yolanda mumbled, "I didn't expect you to take a tabloid seriously."

"Well, Yolanda, if you think about it, these papers would be the place to find other people with abilities," he replied. "Isn't that why you started reading them?"

Yolanda looked at the geneticist and nodded. "I just stopped believing the articles after a while."

"So why do you keep buying them?"

"Entertainment, force of habit, I guess."

Mohinder murmured in acknowledgement. "And to think that Ananda of all people...if it's really her..."

"What do you mean 'if it's really her'?"

"My ex girlfriend told me once that she had a half sister named Ananda. I've never met said sibling."

"And I take it your ex's last name is Shenoy."

Mohinder mumbled an assent. He opened his mouth to continue the story when the sliding of a deadbolt made him jump in his seat. He leaned over Yolanda to see Shawn entering the house. Shawn nodded at the duo occupying the couch as she sauntered over to the futon.

"Shawn," Yolanda said, "Nice of you to join us."

"I'm sorry," Shawn sighed. "Too much shit going on in my mind. Haven't dealt with this much stress in about five years."

"No, I should be the one apologizing," Mohinder said. "I had no clue about what happened to your sister. Or Isaac. I'm sorry."

Shawn nodded. "Don't sweat it. If you want, you can see what happened in here."

She placed the journal on the coffee table next to the stack of tabloids.

"What's in there?" Yolanda asked.

"Sketches," Shawn replied. "Isaac said he'd mail these when he finished them or if he died, whichever came first. As far as I can tell, he fulfilled both objectives."

"Isaac," Mohinder said. "I take it you two kept in touch."

"We were friends for a little while, but a lot of things got in the way."

"How did you meet him?"

"I saw one of his paintings in a gallery window during a trip to New York I took five years ago. It was a close-up of my face while I was performing a surgery of some sort. On a whim, I decided to visit the gallery. As soon as I walked in, Isaac recognized me."

"Wow," Mohinder whispered.

"You know, Shawn," Yolanda interjected, "I've heard this story before, but what I've always wanted to know is why you have so many prints of his work."

Shawn turned a few pages in the journal. "You can thank Charles for that. He sent me a number of Isaac's prints, especially when Isaac started dating that bitch of his daughter."

Yolanda burst out laughing. "Someone's a little jealous!"

"Well, he's dead now, so I can't do anything about it."

"Ha! You ARE!"

Shawn made a face at her friend. "I admitted to nothing. Nothing."

"Shawn, may I ask how long Isaac was addicted to heroin?" Mohinder interjected.

At that, Shawn turned the open journal so Mohinder could see the drawing. "Since 9/11. He predicted said event in these drawings the day after we met."

Mohinder picked up the journal and studied the drawing. It showed the South Tower just as the airliner crashed into it. Turning the page, he saw a dining room fill with smoke and three people huddling in front of a table. He flipped to another page and found a grayscale drawing of a rubble heap. If he looked close enough, he could see a light gray hand and a concrete ash-covered face in the pile.

"Your family?" he asked.

Shawn nodded. "I would die if I attempted to tap their last moments. My ability exposes me to the physical environment of the tapping location."

"Kind of like _The Matrix_."

"Exactly."

Mohinder continued to peruse the journal in awe. His eyes widened every time he found a scene that looked familiar. Shawn knew when he found the drawings of the two of them and Molly. One particular drawing made Mohinder drop the journal, prompting Shawn to join him and Yolanda on the couch. She picked up the journal and looked at the drawing. Nothing stood out in the full color sketch of her talking to a very tall woman with long black hair and a rounded belly indicative of early pregnancy. Then she looked at the photo still on Mohinder's computer.

"Holy fuck a duck!" she yelped.

"Ssshhh!" Mohinder hissed.

"Sorry," Shawn muttered. "I just..."

"I'm going to find Ananda. I just have to do a few things beforehand."

"Like what?" Yolanda asked.

"Get an Indian visa to England," he replied. "I probably won't be able to get it for a month, but I'm going to do whatever it takes."

Shawn closed her eyes for a moment. When she exited her tapping, she was wringing her hands. "Whatever you do, don't mention Mira if you can help it," Shawn warned him.

"Mira?" he asked. "What do you know about Mira?"

"Let's just say it's a case of sibling rivalry gone horribly wrong, and if I'm saying it went horribly wrong, you know it's bad."

Mohinder pulled his beige suitcase out of the trunk of Shawn's Camry. He shut the lid and watched Shawn get out of the car. A gust of wind picked up her hair, covering her face. She pushed back the errant locks and shielded her eyes from the Miami sun.

"I can't believe you made me drive all the way out to this crap hole," she shouted over the buzz of traffic. "You could have chosen an airport without bilingual signage."

"Trust me, Shawn, I don't care about that. All the airports in India have multilingual signs."

Shawn nodded and joined Mohinder by the curb. "Do you ever get homesick for India, Mohinder?"

This made Mohinder stop to think. After a while, he shook his head. "Aside from your immigration laws and dysfunctional health care system, I consider America my home more than ever."

"Are you thinking of staying in Florida?"

Mohinder shrugged. "I might. We'll see how things go with Molly."

"Mohinder, I'm-"

"Don't. I know it's best for Molly. I'll miss her for a while, but it will be better for her in the long run. You better head out. It sucks that you have to work on New Year's Eve."

The surgeon shrugged. "I've done it before. I'll do it again."

"You shouldn't have to."

"Well, think of it this way, Mohinder. I'm not going home to an empty house."

"You're not? How about Yolanda?"

"Working. New Year's Eve is always a busy night. People get rather crazy when they're on the roads. Anyway, you better get going. They always recommend an early arrival. You'll spend a shit load of hours fartin' around in the airport before flying out to Europe."

Mohinder nodded. "Take care of yourself, Shawn."

"You too, Mohinder."

The two hugged before Shawn got back in her car. From the curb, Mohinder watched her drive back into traffic before making his way into the bustling airport.

Mohinder's arrival in London strained his already overworked body. He held his eyelids open with his fingers as he shuffled through immigration and stretched during his time in customs. By the time he finished his legal entrance into England, it was 7:30 in the morning. Despite it being morning, Mohinder decided to go to Plan B. After finding the night club's address in a phone book, he hailed a cab to Brixton.

Upon arrival in Brixton, Mohinder noticed only a single light glowing in the building. He paid the driver and made his way to the entrance. It took him three sets of knocks to get a response. The door opened a sliver, and a ivory-skinned man with a crew cut poked his head out.

"Sir, the club is closed until eight this evening," the man said.

"Is Ananda Shenoy here?" Mohinder pressed.

"Ananda? What do you want with her?"

"My name is Mohinder Suresh. I'm a geneticist, and I'd like to ask her some questions."

"What kinds of questions?"

"About the...impotence of the men who patronize your establishment."

The man cracked a small smile. "Think you know a way to solve our declining attendance problem?"

Mohinder shrugged. "If I could talk to her...maybe. I'll figure something out."

"Fair enough. Let me see if she's still here."

The man shut the door, leaving Mohinder to loiter in the doorway. He set his luggage down and glanced out at the street. A few people meandered in the streets, and one even stopped to pick up a plastic bottle rolling along the sidewalk. Though the clouds seemed to evade the Brixton neighborhood, the dark browns and reds of the buildings cast a shadow over the street. Mohinder pulled his luggage closer to his feet, and peering up, he spotted a very tall woman approach the entrance. Upon closer inspection, he found she was about as tall as Sylar. The memory of the telekinetic sociopath whom he allowed in his apartment for a short while made him shudder. The woman stopped right next to him and pounded a blue-gloved fist on the door.

"Can't believe I left my keys in there," she muttered under her breath.

Mohinder turned to the Amazonian-like woman next to him. "Excuse me. Would you by any chance happen to know an Ananda Shenoy?"

The woman faced him and flashed a smile. "You're lookin' at her. Now are you lookin' for an autograph or to beat the seven shades of shit out of me?"

Mohinder shot her a startled look. "Um, neither. I was hoping to ask you some questions about–"

"I'm sorry, Mister Suresh," the man mumbled as he opened the door. In confusion, he looked around and found Ananda. "Ah, Miss Shenoy. I thought you shot off."

"Well, Greg, I forgot my keys."

"Ah, yes, your keys. I have them right here."

He held out her UK-flag bedecked key ring, and she snatched it from his hand. Ananda said good bye to the man as he shut the door. With that, she refocused her attention on Mohinder.

"Greg has a weird sense of timing," she mumbled. "By the way, I don't believe I caught your name."

"Mohinder. Mohinder Suresh."

The two Indians shook hands.

"Mohinder..." she hummed. "That name sounds familiar."

"Would you happen to have a sister?"

"Well, I have a half-sister but a sister, nonetheless."

"Is her name Mira?"

Ananda nodded before her mouth formed a small 'oh'. "Um, yes. Mira, indeed. How do you know that?"

Mohinder shuffled his feet. "We were engaged once."

"So...you are the mysterious Mohinder Suresh my uncle has told me about."

He nodded.

"Oh, good God! My sister is a fucking git for dumping you. Hey, if you're interested..."

The geneticist blushed and shook his head. "Well...I met someone else, but it's flattering to know there's interest out there."

Ananda chuckled. "Good thing my flat mate works days. Otherwise, he'd be all over you."

Mohinder fidgeted, and Ananda burst out laughing when she put the two together.

"Damn! Is that why she dumped you?"

"No, Ananda. It's much more complicated than that."

"Seems that way. Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to tuck into some breakfast. Haven't eaten since ten or so."

"Neither have I. Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all."

Over breakfast, Mohinder relayed the turmoil he endured over the past three months. He chronicled the steps in which his routine life was turned on its ear by his father's death. Ananda became misty eyed upon learning about Chandra Suresh's murder and how Mohinder witnessed it in retrospect. From there, she learned how Mohinder's decision to finish his father's research offered him two paths in life. He'd barely managaed to escape one that put him in a killer's crosshairs. The other, the one which made Mohinder's voice crack, had not fulfilled the geneticist's desire for instant proof, leading to a parting that had pushed his emotional limits.

Mohinder continued his story as they rode through the Tube on the way to Ananda's flat. All the while, Ananda contemplated Mohinder's misadventures. She paid attention to the fluctuations in his voice, particularly how it flattened when he discussed the two most important people in his life: Peter and Molly. As far as she could tell, the only thing that gave Mohinder any sense of relief was watching the killer die at the hands of a sword-wielding Japanese man. As the train inched closer to their stop, Ananda rubbed her hands together. The train halted, and she tapped her traveling companion on the shoulder.

"We're here," she mumbled, and she led him off the train.

The two arrived at Ananda's flat after hiking up four flights of stairs. She unlocked the door to the cluttered foyer area before they stepped inside. They set their bags in the foyer, and Ananda made her way into the kitchen.

"Would you like anything, Mohinder?" she asked.

"No, thank you," he replied as he looked in the mirror. For having endured a thirteen hour flight from Miami to London, his face showed no visible signs of fatigue. In fact, the only evidence of his travels was his rumpled clothing.

As Mohinder studied his face in the mirror, Ananda rejoined him while holding a bottle of soda. "Like it?"

Mohinder shook himself out of his daze and faced the deejay. "What do you mean?"

"Your face. I got rid of those bags the size of saucers from under your eyes."

He watched his eyes widen in the mirror at Ananda's comment. "What? How could you do that?"

"Everything they say about me in the tabloids is true," Ananda replied. "I have to say, being able to manipulate the human body can be fairly useful at times."

That comment made Mohinder's moth fall open. "You mean...?"

She nodded. "Mira will never admit that my kind exists. Then again, that could also be attributed to something I did to her when we were younger."

"What was that?"

The deejay looked at her feet. "Well...that's kind of a sore subject. I don't know how long the two of you were engaged or how much she told you about her life."

He grabbed her shoulder. "What did you do to Mira?"

"Mohinder," Ananda sighed, "I aborted her baby."

At that, Mohinder's knees buckled. He slumped to the floor, pulling Ananda down with him. Once he could fall no further, Mohinder propped himself against the wall. Ananda picked herself off the ground and took a crouching position next to him.

"Mira...was pregnant?" Mohinder asked.

"Sadly, yes," was the response he received. "She was sleeping with one of the professors at Madras. I don't know for sure which one. All I know is it was the first time I could control my ability, and I was trying to do her a favor. So I triggered a miscarriage."

Mohinder clenched her shoulder tighter. "Ananda, are you insane? How can you trigger a miscarriage in anyone, let alone your sister?"

She shook her head. "I honestly don't know, Mohinder, but I do know this. Living in India with this ability and this body of mine was nothing short of hellish. I'm not sure how I survived six years of it."

One phrase caught Mohinder's attention. "This body of yours?"

Ananda stared in his eyes for a moment before blinking. When she opened her eyes, Mohinder noticed they had shifted from nearly espresso in color to a deep Tanzanite blue. The geneticist peered at the color changing orbs, trying to determine if he was hallucinating.

"Yes," she whispered. "I can manipulate my own body, too."


	7. Everybody Underground

For all his years of living in New York, Peter never went to Times Square for New Year's Eve. With his brother dead and other relatives not answering his calls, he had no plans for the evening, and he was not about to mope the night away. As the afternoon faded into twilight, Peter descended the stairs for the roof of the Deveaux building and braved the crowds as he pushed toward Times Square.

Upon arrival, Peter discovered the square was already three quarters full. A nameless band droned on right in front of where the ball would land. Closing his eyes, Peter drowned in the hyper beats and melancholy melodies. A part of him marveled that he was even alive and able to be a part of the celebratory swarm. This led him to remembering his last visit to Mohinder's apartment. He faced Sylar in the Telekinetic Olympics, but Sylar brought him down with a shard of glass. The next thing he knew, he was in Nathan's house, and Claire had removed the shard from his skull. All the while, Peter realized that he had no clue what happened between these two moments.

"Five six one," a voice whispered in his head.

"Huh?" he mumbled, his own response breaking his reverie.

"Five six one," the voice repeated, "seven two two..."

After two repetitions of all the numbers, Peter figured out their connection. The empath darted out of the pack and found a small t-shirt shop still open. He made his way to the counter and asked to use the phone. The clerk dialed the number and handed Peter the receiver. Peter waited through five rings, all the while hearing the same voice mention something about Mohinder or someone else answering.

"Hello, you have reached the residence of Shawn LeLand," the voice on the other end chirped. "I am unable to answer the phone at this time, so please leave you name, your number and a message. I will return your call as soon as possible. Thank you."

"Hello," Peter sputtered. "Mohinder? Are you there? It's Peter Petrelli. I'm alive, and I'm in New York. I have no phone of my own, so I'll try to call you again when I can. I guess...we'll talk later."

With that, he passed the receiver back to the clerk. After writing down the number dictated into his subconscious, Peter left the shop and rejoined the cavorting throng crowding the square. People hollered and blew into noisemakers as the Jumbotrons displayed the seconds ticking away. As the crowd counted down the final ten seconds, tears leaked out of Peter's orbs. He shut his eyes, peeking through thick lashes to see the ball hit the bottom. When he saw the number 2007 in lights, he lowered his head, allowing the tears to flow free.

"Happy New Year's," he choked.

Much to his surprise, the crowd dispersed in a half hour. Not ready to retreat to the rooftop, he wandered through the city. Most of the bars and night clubs were packed with post-New Year's partiers, but he stumbled across what looked like an underground club with no line snaking from the entrance. He made himself invisible before descending the stairs.

After strolling past the bouncer, Peter surveyed the club. Most of the walls were painted black with the exception of some toward the back of the hall. Three white walls provided the backdrop for flooding halogen lights and cramped stages. Men clad in black leather and liquid latex struck poses on one stage, and a couple were held in place by stainless steel shackles. Looking behind him, Peter spotted the long, curved bar dotted with maroon and silver streaked pendant lights. Numerous leather couches in maroon and black dotted the club, and he spotted two circular platforms a couple yards away from the bar.

Peter walked over to a coffee table between the bar and the circular platforms. On it rested a half full rocks glass. He picked it up and sniffed the contents, surprised to find it only contained water. Downing what was left in the glass, Peter set it back before walking off to rematerialize. With a greater concentration of people in this area, he refocused his energy on trying not to think for a change. Finding an empty chair near to one of the circular platforms, Peter plopped in it, happy to be off his feet. Just as he sat down, the deejay cut the music.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I hope you are enjoying 2007 so far," the deejay cooed through the crackling sound system. "It might be one AM, but the party is just getting started here. In fifteen minutes, you can catch the Dynamic Duo playing Doctor on Stage One for a special one hour performance."

Peter leaned back in the chair and brushed at the silver studs adorning the arms.

"Then at one thirty, the Six Star Sextet will be performing an encore of their Leatherbound Ritual," the deejay continued. "But right now, Circular One is opening up for the New Year's exhibition of crowd favorite Morally Grey."

At that, Peter noticed people swarmed the area near where he sat.

"So get your drinks from Mitch the Mixo and enjoy your show of choice. Thank you for making The Iron Gate your stop for New Year's Eve 2006."

Peter tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. The halogens above him flickered on, prompting him to shield his eyes from the whitewash of light. He caught a glimpse of two doors in the ceiling opening, and he saw the shadowed mass lowered to the stage. As coarse industrial rock thudded off the walls of the club, Peter followed the travels of the form only to find a familiar face tilted back in his direction.

Sylar only knew he was hovering a foot from the stage from the roar of the crowd. The drugs coursing through his system kept him from fully opening his eyes. Even if he could open his eyes, he knew the lights would prevent him from seeing the crowd. While grateful to the owner of the club for letting him stay here, he didn't enjoy the way in which he had to repay the debt. Adding insult to injury was the fact that the manager ordered him to not incorporate Sylar into his stage name. Getting a feel for the pulsating techno music, he listened for the right beat before splaying his legs into a V shape. As the crowd's cheering trilled into his eardrums, he decided that there could be worse things than being a piece of living art.

Peter stared at the commotion before his eyes, but he paid no attention to it. A voice drifting through his head jolted him out of his semi-vegetative state.

"They won't let him use Sylar as part of his stage name?" Peter mumbled. "Wait. Sylar? What the fuck?"

He bolted to an upright sitting position. Looking at the shirtless performer, he knew exactly who was in those pants and chains.

"I thought you were dead," he hissed.

With that, Peter sprung out of the chair and dashed to the sparsely populated bar. Slamming into the edge, he lowered himself onto a stool. A short man with slicked back hair approached and slid a Skyy coaster in front of the empath.

"Mitch the Mixo at your service," he said. "What can I get for you?"

"Absolut on the rocks," Peter mumbled, setting a twenty on the bar. "I also need a little info, if you have it."

Mitch placed Peter's drink on the coaster and pocketed the twenty. "Depends. What is it you want to know?"

"That man at the circular stage-"

"Mister Morally Grey. What about him? I will say he's off limits for private meetings. Owner's orders."

Peter scowled at Mitch's statement. "He's not my type. How long has he been here?"

"Almost two months. He was originally a janitor, but then those suits started hanging around."

The empath cocked his head, trying to understand what Mitch told him.

"Suits," Mitch continued. "Agents. People looking to capture other people, mainly those with special abilities."

"Abilities, huh?" Peter muttered.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Actually, I think I do. Some jackasses in business wear hounded me at my brother's funeral.

Mitch's eyebrows flew to the top of his forehead as he gripped the rail. "Really. What do you know about people with abilities?"

"I'm one, and so is...Morally Grey, but that's not his real name. Did you know that?"

Mitch stared at Peter and shook his head a bit.

"His name is Sylar," Peter continued in a whisper, "and he can move things with his mind."

"That's probably why the suits want him."

Peter shrugged. "Probably. They want me, too."

"Why? What can you do?"

With that, Peter took his empty glass and turned it upside down. He put his hand on the top of the upturned object and pressed down. The glass cracked and splintered under his hand. The more he pressed, the smaller the glass pieces got, and they lodged themselves into his palm. Peter lifted his hand and plucked out each shard. Mitch could only stand there with his jaw hanging open as he watched the skin heal from the glass wounds.

"No wonder they want you," he gasped. "Nobody should be naturally able to crush that glass just with their bare hands...or hand, for that matter."

"Or heal," Peter muttered.

Mitch opened his mouth but stopped short. He looked out at the stage and spotted two gentlemen in suits loiter near Stage One.

"What's up?" Peter asked.

"Suits," was the response he got.

"Damnit I've spent the past month-"

"Shut it. They could be after Morally Grey or you or anybody here, for that matter. There are a shit load of them around."

"Who?"

"Both."

"How do you know all of this?"

Mitch adjusted the cuff of his tuxedo shirt. "I used to be one of them. A suit. Now shut up and stay facing the bar."

Peter complied and gestured to the surface of the bar. Mitch nodded and prepared another glass. He kept his eye on the agents while helping other customers, watching them leave the cluster near Stage One. While sipping his liquor, Peter heard one of them comment about heading to the back of the club, prompting him to nearly choke on his vodka. Mitch heard his sputtering from the other end of the bar and shot a look at the empath. His eyes widened, and he mouthed something.

"What?" Peter asked.

"Behind you!" Mitch shouted.

Peter turned to find an agent mere inches away from his face. Without thinking, he threw his fist, his knuckles digging into the agent's eye. The agent stumbled back before landing on his tail bone. Peter glanced to his right and saw two chiseled men in all black clothes marching through the club. One headed to the circular stages, and the second stopped in front of the agent lying on the floor, whose eye had morphed into a pool of greens and blues. The man in black kicked the agent's shoulder but got no response. Moments later, the second man joined the small cluster near the bar, holding the other agent in his clutches. The agent writhed in the man's arms and then locked eyes with Peter.

"Him!" the agent shouted.

"Shut your trap, you little pissant," his captor hissed.

"He did it!"

Ignoring the agent's outbursts, the captor looked at his compatriot. "What happened to the other one?"

"He's out like a busted light bulb," the other man answered before glancing at Peter. "Maybe he did do it."

"I swear he did it!" the agent yelled as he continued to twist and fight the flesh and bone restraints cutting off circulation in his arms.

"Well, he was going to abduct me!" Peter finally retorted.

"How the hell would you know that?" the man asked.

"I-I-I've seen him before! At my brother's funeral."

"We were after the one called Morally Grey," the agent mumbled, "but if you're here...let me at him."

"Oh, no, you don't," his captor growled as he dragged the agent to the exit.

"All the same, you're out of here as well," the other man said while grabbing Peter's shoulder.

Peter fell off the stool as the man dragged him along. He heard Mitch call out about something being on the house, but nothing registered until the man dropped him on the sidewalk right next to the stairwell. Dazed, Peter shook his head and scrambled to his feet. Next to him was the agent who yelled at him earlier.

"Nice evening, isn't it, Mister Petrelli?" the agent asked.

Without a word, Peter turned and began running. He heard the agent on his heels, his footfalls and mental taunts coursing through the empath's brain. The agent both concentrated on capturing the empath and laughing inside over said subject's outburst about why he punched the other agent. Feeling the agent gaining ground, Peter stopped and faced him. The agent smirked just before Peter tossed him down the sidewalk with a single nod of his head.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" he yelled at the agent, who was lying on his back on the concrete.

With that, Peter took flight and headed back to the rooftop.

Mira lounged in the sitting area reading profiles of the subjects the group previously studied or intended to study. Since efforts to bring Peter and Sylar to Kirby Plaza had been fruitless, she devoted some time to learning about the abilities they had been able to study. The hours spent reading enlightened Mira, and she began to understand why the Suresh men devoted their lives to learning as much as they could about these people. A knock interrupted her reading. She answered the door and found her agents standing in the threshold.

"Morning, gentlemen," she said. "What happened to you?"

"We found Peter Petrelli in SoHo," the agent with the black eye mumbled. "It did not go so well."

"Really. Come in so we can discuss this."

The agents stepped into the suite and settled in the chairs.

"Would either of you like anything?" she continued.

"I'll take an ice pack," the injured agent piped up, gesturing to his eye.

Mira stopped and looked at him. "How did you get that?"

"Like I said, we found Peter Petrelli. He's got one hell of a punch."

"Not to mention his flight, his ability to move things with his mind and potentially the ability to read minds," the other agent added.

"So he has a minimum of four abilities," Mira said. "We'll have to adjust our strategy a bit. Now let me see about an ice pack."

With that, Mira ventured to her bedroom. She opened the mini-fridge and checked the ice tray. After tossing some ice in a plastic shopping bag, she grabbed some water and rejoined the agents in the sitting area. Upon arrival, she spotted them flipping throuhg the profiles, although the one agent kept squinting at the paper in his hands.

"Glad to see you're comfortable," she said while handing the ice pack over. "Anything else on Petrelli? Where did you find him, anyway?"

"At The Iron Gate," the uninjured agent replied. "We were there tracking down Sylar."

"Any luck with Sylar?"

The agents shook their heads.

"Someone at the club is protecting Sylar," the injured agent stated. "We got kicked out of the club."

"It seems as if they know our type," his compatriot added. "We might have to go undercover if we plan to capture Sylar."

"How about Peter?" Mira asked.

"With him, we might just get lucky. It depends on what abilities he decides to use...or not use, for that matter."

Mira nodded. "Well, you guys should get some sleep after the long night you had. I have the day off, but I'm going to see if there's a way we can capture either of these men. Let's meet tonight for dinner.

The agents nodded and left the room. After they left, she scuttled back to the bedroom to get dressed. New Year's Day or not, she was going to track down these specials if it was the last thing she'd ever do.

Shawn thanked providence for the light traffic on the Turnpike as she pulled into her driveway. After getting in the house and tossing her bag on the futon, she pressed a button on her answering machine.

"You have two messages," the machine droned.

"Oh goody," she grumbled. "If it's work, I'm calling in dead. I've had enough surgery for one day."

She changed into her pajamas while someone form the Palm Beach County Sheriff's Office reminded her to not drink and drive on New Year's Eve. The surgeon rolled her eyes at the reminder. The night's numerous car crash injuries provided enough reminders, especially when they came in the form of seven broken ribs, a collapsed lung and a brain bleed all in one person. Shawn cursed the Bacardi corporation while trying to push that particular patient out of her mind. The second message diverted her attention.

"Hello," a male voice sputtered. "Mohinder? Are you there? It's Peter Petrelli."

As Peter continued rambling, Shawn smiled a bit. She picked up the nearby cordless phone and sifted through the caller ID. Though the name Petrelli appeared nowhere in the list of calls, she spotted a call from T.J.'s T-Shirts made at 11 the previous night. Too tired to tap or make any phone calls herself, she retreated to her bedroom. Eyeing the calendar, she counted down the days in her head until Mohinder returned from his trip. She couldn't wait to see his face when she played Peter's message for him.


	8. Return to New York

Across the pond, Mohinder watched the sun sink beyond the horizon line from the window of Ananda's flat. He heard his host talking to someone at the door. James, her flat mate, sat in a chair, flipping through the channels. Mohinder let his mind get lost in the noise of the television as he contemplated his time in London. James attempted to get close to Mohinder on several occasions, even going as far as throwing an arm around him while they sat on the couch. His pale skin and brown locks disturbed the geneticist, who stuck with Ananda whenever he could. After Shouldergate, Ananda slammed her roommate with the most brutal verbal lashing Mohinder ever witnessed, complete with castration threats and locking him in a closet with Jerry Falwell. It worked wonders for keeping Mister Amorous at bay.

"Hey, guys! Food!" the deejay shouted, jolting Mohinder out of his reverie.

"Thank God," James said as he bounded to the table. "I'm starved."

"When are you not?" Ananda retorted with a gleam in her eye.

James ignored his flat mate's comments and poked in the bags on the table. Mohinder turned his head and watched Ananda pull items out of the bags in preparation for dinner. He shook himself out of his meditative stupor before joining the others.

After a quiet dinner of Kao Pat, Vegetable Pulav and Lamb Curry, the occupants of the flat wandered off in different directions. James invited Mohinder to join him in watching his Doctor Who DVDs, but Mohinder declined. When he learned of Ananda's ability, his mind itched to know how she acquired it. His father's research suggested that abilities were acquired through at least one sex-linked trait, which decreased the chances of females developing powers. To his knowledge, no one in Mira's bloodline possessed any of the four genes he discovered after analyzing Sylar's DNA. Determined, he knocked on the door to Ananda's room. He didn't have to wait long for her to poke her head out the door.

"Hey, Mohinder," she said. "Everything okay?"

He nodded. "I just realized I haven't asked you the questions I flew out here to ask, well, once I knew who you were."

The deejay smiled. "Well, come on in. I was going to listen to some new bass lines I picked up, but it can wait."

Mohinder stepped into the room and sat on the bed. The lilac plaid comforter surprised him, but the rest of the room's decor made more sense. Three CD towers were crammed into one corner of the room, and next to them sat an amplifier. A mixer rested on top of some second hand speakers near her desk, which was cluttered with papers, headphones and a pen holder shaped like a vintage police call box. Photos of Ananda with various people dotted the walls and shelves. As he drank in the sights in the room, Ananda closed the door.

"Welcome to my humble home," she cooed.

"It's quite nice," Mohinder mumbled as he picked up a picture of Ananda with an unfamiliar man. Her arm was around the slightly shorter male, who appeared to be in his 30s, although his disheveled hair made him look closer to Ananda's age.

Ananda looked at the photo and blushed. "Of all photos. Don't tell me he's your type."

"Hair's too light in color."

She smirked at his lightning fast reply. "Good. He's got enough people wanting to jump his bones."

Mohinder chuckled. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"Ha! I wish. Realistically, though, we'd drive each other nuts. He's a bit too artsy for me. I prefer the more analytical types."

"What does he do?"

"For a living? He's an actor."

"Ah."

Ananda plopped in the swivel chair and turned to face the bed. "Last I checked he doesn't have any cool powers or similar tricks up his sleeve. Anyway, I doubt you came in here to drool over the Doctor. What is it you'd like to know?"

"I want to know how you acquired your ability," Mohinder said. "No one in the Shenoy family possesses the genetic sequences necessary for...superhuman traits."

"Hmmm...thing is, my last name might be Shenoy, but I'm not a blood Shenoy like Mira."

Mohinder shook his head. "Come again?"

"Mira and I have different fathers."

For a moment, the geneticist sat in silence trying to vocalize any sort of response. Finally, he just whispered an "Oh."

"My dad was able to do some interesting stuff, though."

"Like what?"

This prompted Ananda to go to a bookshelf and pull out a photo album. She flipped through half of the book before stopping at a particular page. On the page was a photo of a tall man with dark hair and skin sticking his hand in a clear tub of a brownish liquid. The photo below it was the same except the liquid was clear. Ananda handed the photo album to Mohinder.

"He could remove impurities from liquid substances with just his hands," she said with a smile almost overrunning her face.

Mohinder looked at the photos and then at the deejay. "That's quite a useful ability. You must be proud of him."

Ananda rocked her head back and forth. "Yeah."

He set the photo album aside and refocused his attention on his host. 

"So...where is he?"

She fell back into the chair and stared at the floor. "He's dead."

"I'm sorry. What happened, if I may ask?"

The deejay ran a finger along the outer seam of her jeans. "He had a stroke. Er, more accurately, I gave him a stroke."

"Wha-? How could you?"

"I can control the human body! Remember?" Ananda shouted. "I was twelve at the time and had no idea what I could do!"

"Then how did it happen?"

His host glanced at the door before answering. "We were having an argument about school. My dad and teachers both felt I wasn't being challenged enough at the school I was attending at the time. They felt I would do better at this boarding school just outside of Manchester. I, however, didn't want to leave good ol' London town-"

"Wait a minute. You lived here prior to living in India?"

Ananda nodded. "My dad agreed to raise me to keep the peace in my mother's family. Those were happy days. Anyway, I didn't want to move and argued with him about one night, something I never did with him. I was a screaming hellion that night, though, and at one point, my father...he just...fell over."

She sniffled, and Mohinder cast his eyes around the room in search of tissues. He grabbed a box off the night stand and brought them over to his sobbing host.

"I had no idea what happened. I called the police, but it was too late. About a week after the autopsy and funeral, I learned they were going to turn me over to my mother."

Mohinder rested his arm around Ananda's shoulders and knelt next to the chair. "Ananda, it's okay. Your father probably didn't know what you could do, either."

"Mohinder, the last thing I said to him was that I hated him."

Ananda slumped over and fell out of the chair. Mohinder caught her and held her as she fought her tears in order to breathe.

"I know how you feel," he whispered as a tear snaked down his face. "I really do."

The deejay sniffled. "How?"

"I said something similar to someone I loved before he died. Your father probably knew you loved him, though. He...the one I loved...he never knew."

"I'm sorry. Mohinder."

The two Indians sat on the floor, crying over their lost loved ones.

"Henson, what time do you have?

A young man with ruffled brown hair looked at his watch. "Four fifteen."

"Go ahead and make your way to the school."

Henson removed his earpiece and got up from the park bench where he had spent the past hour waiting for his cue. Fiddling with the collar of his dress shirt, Henson made his way to the blue Prius sitting in the lot. He contemplated how a mundane job of overseeing a security unit at the Corinthian Casino morphed into covert operations. His hair and pale skin made him a dead ringer for Arnold Walker, the man they found taking care of Molly after a month long investigation. After training to morph into the girl's uncle almost made him forget his own name, the company asked him to fetch Molly. While driving to Poinciana Elementary, Henson hoped he could maintain his Arnold Walker facade long enough to get Molly before the man himself arrived at the school.

An SUV sat in the spot Arnold Walker normally parked in when he picked up Molly from Extended Day. Mumbling curses under his breath, Henson pulled into a spot two cars down from the SUV. He then made his way to the cafeteria, which held the makeshift office for the after school program. Once inside, he spotted a red haired woman at a table, and he made his way over. Within seconds, she noticed his presence and greeted him with a small smile.

"And how was your day, Mister Walker?" she asked.

Henson coughed. "Eh, the usual. Office work is a real bear."

"Tell me about it. How's Molly at home these days?"

"Doing...better. She's still skittish, but she's accepting the fact that her parents are gone."

"That's good. Let me just page her counselor and let her know you're here."

Henson nodded and listened to the woman page for Molly Walker over the two way. As he stood around waiting for the tyke, he thanked the active agents for getting him enough information about Arnold's life to help him improvise. He dragged his fingers through his hair and tried not to fidget under the woman's watch. Just as he was about to duck into the restroom, the door on the opposite side of the cafeteria opened. Looking around, he saw Molly creep into the building and slink off to grab her backpack from one of the tables. He walked a little closer to her and beamed when she saw him.

"Hi, Uncle Arnie!" she chirped.

"Hey, Molly," he replied as he joined her. "How was school?"

"Okay."

"Just okay?"

"Yeah. Nothing really exciting happened, especially since Miss Collins decided we didn't have enough time for a science lesson."

"Oh, that's a shame. Tell you what. I need to stop at the store for some meatloaf supplies. Why don't you tell me about it on the way there?"

"Okey dokey," the girl replied as she held out her hand.

Henson took her proffered hand and accompanied her to the parking lot.

After buckling Molly into the back seat, he started the car and made his way to the local Publix. Turning into the parking lot, he spotted the cluster of luxury sedans towards the back of the lot. He drove into the lane where most of the cars were parked and pulled into a space toward the middle. Upon exiting the car, he snapped his fingers, and several men exited the cars. Two men joined him as he prepared to help Molly get out of the car. When Molly saw the men, she attempted to run, but a third man blocked her path. The men gagged Molly and put her in the back of one of the sedans. All of the cars except one then left the parking lot, heading for the airport. The men in the remaining car exited the vehicle and joined Henson at the Prius.

"Good work," the one agent said as he clapped Henson on the shoulder. "You should join our team."

Meanwhile, Molly sat in the back of the sedan with her face pressed against the window. She watched the blur of trees and buildings fly past, and she felt a lurch in her stomach. Pulling herself away from the window, she closed her eyes. After a few moments, she had the answer she needed.

"Let me out!" she screamed. "Take me back to my uncle!"

The man in the front passenger seat turned to face the girl. "Sweetie, we don't know where your uncle is."

"He's at the school! He's looking for me! Take me back!"

"Sorry, kiddo. Boss's orders. There's someone who would like to see you."

"Yes! My uncle."

"That's not who we had in mind."

For a moment, Molly sat staring at the charcoal grey upholstery of the car. She closed her eyes again for a split second. "Then can you take me to see Mohinder?"

The men shot each other puzzled looks. "Who's Mohinder?"

"Mohinder. Mohinder Suresh. He's my hero. He put his blood in my body so I wouldn't be sick. He called it a...transfusion something or other."

"Blood transfusion," the agent sitting in the back with Molly mumbled. "We'll take you to him once you meet with our boss."

Molly looked at the agent. "Who is your boss? Why do I have to meet him?"

The agent smiled. "It's a surprise."

Shawn sat up in her bed trying to calm her panting breath. Images of Molly being shoved into a car and then carried onto a private jet still loomed in her mind. The surgeon thought she dreamt this, but she could still see Molly's dozing form slumped in a leather seat as the plane took off. She shook her head as if to rebuke the existence of these visions.

"No, no, no, no, no," she muttered. "That can't be right. She's probably at school or with her uncle."

The phone rang, its high pitched beeping startling Shawn out of bed. She reached for her cordless but heard Mohinder's voice from the other side of the tiny villa.

"Hello," he said. "WHAT?"

At that, Shawn untangled herself from the mess of bed linens curled around her form. She scampered out of the room. By the time she reached Mohinder's room, he sat on the bed trembling like a leaf. The other cordless receiver rested in his lap next to a couple essays. She walked into the room and stood in front of Mohinder.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"That was Arnold Walker," he whispered. "Molly's gone missing."

Shawn bowed her head and sat at the foot of the bed. "I thought so."

Mohinder looked at the surgeon. "Do you know anything? You can find her, can't you?"

"I can, but not right now. She's...she's on a plane, and I'm not about to risk tapping into that plane to find out where she's going."

"Why not?"

Shawn picked at the blanket. "Those are company agents. I might not come back if I try to tap into them."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll more than likely get caught. That environment gives me no place to hide, and there's no way of guaranteeing that I could reverse the tap if I'm imprisoned. It also affects the passage of time and current events, but that's another matter altogether."

"So what? You can't do anything?"

"Not exactly. I can passively tap and...go after her."

Mohinder shot Shawn a wild-eyed look. "Are you crazy?"

The surgeon shook her head. "In fact, you should come along with me."

"I can't! I have all these papers to grade."

Shawn grabbed him by the arm. "Mohinder, it's spring break. The kids won't notice if the papers aren't graded right away."

"But what about the authorities?"

"I'll drop an anonymous tip along the way. Now...do you want to go find your little girl?"

Mohinder gulped and nodded. Shawn's similarity to Sylar ripped through his brain and strangled his last shred of common sense.

"Pack your bags. I'm going to grab a quick shower, and then we're heading out."

True to her word, Shawn showered, dressed and packed a small bag in under an hour. She dragged Mohinder out the door and threw him into the passenger's seat. They headed east to Interstate 95 just before the start of rush hour. After several hours of straight driving, she pulled the car into a rest area on the Georgia-South Carolina border. Mohinder bounded out of the car, headed for the restrooms. For her part, Shawn leaned back and closed her eyes while she tried to figure out where Molly was and if she was safe. Just as she started to enter a passive tap, her cellphone went off. She grabbed it and flipped it open.

"LeLand," she huffed.

"Shawn, it's Bennet. Have you found Peter yet? I only asked you to find him four months ago."

The surgeon slammed her hand against the steering wall. "Damnit, Bennet. I don't live on bankers' hours like you do. Besides, Peter keeps moving about so I can never really tell where he is."

"Can you at least give me a general location?"

She sughed. "New York City. He's been moving among all the boroughs and even camps out on Long Island."

"Well, that's a start. Any idea as to why he keeps changing location?"

"As far as I can tell, someone's after him."

"Who?"

"I'm not sure. Company, I guess."

Shawn looked up and saw Mohinder heading back to the car. She hoped Bennet would be satisfied with her answer.

"Company, you say, Shawn? How so?"

_Damnit! This fucker won't leave me alone!_ "I'm guessing that the rebuilding of the Company went well enough for them to resume activity in the genetics sector. Perhaps they're trying to study Peter. Did that ever come to mind, Bennet?"

Shawn could hear the older man grumble some incoherent mumbo jumbo through the receiver. "No, it did not, Shawn."

"Well, it's definitely a possibility now."

As she uttered those words, Mohinder got back in the car and buckled his seat belt.

"Ready to go?" he asked her only to get a hand held up in response.

"Shawn, is that Mohinder I hear in the background?"

The surgeon grit her teeth while clenching the steering wheel with her free hand. "Yes. Why? Does it bother you? It's not what you think it is. We're heading to New York."

"Why?"

"Molly's been kidnapped."

Bennet sighed. "How could you let that happen, Shawn?"

"I turned her over to her uncle. It was easier that way. He has stable job and can actually raise her. Plus, he's family, so he could legally adopt her. I'm not about to break any laws for your agenda, Bennet. If you thought I'd pull some shit like that, you are mistaken!"

With that, Shawn hung up and closed her phone. She took several deep breaths in order to quell the anger radiating through her body like a lingering electric shock.

"Are you okay, Shawn?" Mohinder asked.

The surgeon looked at the geneticist. "What do you think?"

Mohinder glanced out the windshield. "I think we should stop at a hotel and get some sleep."

"We can't! The first 48 hours are the most crucial. We've got to keep moving."

"But we haven't even called the police yet!"

"Well, you can leave the tip, unless you'd like to drive."

"Damnit, Shawn! You have lost your mind!"

Shawn turned in her seat to fully face Mohinder.

"And you haven't?" she screamed. "Mohinder, has it ever occurred to you that you're too wrapped up in your grief to see the truth? Has it ever occurred to you that maybe the only way to let go is to go on a leap of faith and maybe even believe Peter's alive?"

"Well, you keep trying to convince me that he is!" Mohinder fired back. "There's no real proof that he isn't dead. You could have gotten someone to leave that message for you."

"But you recognized that voice. I have never gotten a chance to hear Peter Petrelli speak, so I wouldn't know how to coach someone to speak a certain way if my life depended on it. Mohinder, whatever happened to the person that wanted to believe in Peter, believe in any of us with powers? Is he still even there?"

"How about the person that actually loved her family? Is she anywhere in there, Shawn?"

Shawn bit her lip as a tear slipped out of her eye and onto her thigh. "How dare you keep mentioning my sister that way! So what if I was a homophobe? It may have ruined my relationship with my twin, but I've had to let that go."

"And your parents," the genticist pressed. "You never mourned for them, did you?"

The surgeon gulped. "A little, but more for the fact that they didn't help me in a delicate time of need. Why did they think Bobbie was the weak one? She didn't get that blasted chromosome. What made them think that because I have an ability that I'm stronger than everyone else? It's not fucking fair, Mohinder!"

For a moment, Mohinder sat and watched Shawn struggle to keep from ripping at the seams. It made him wonder what she really thought of him and the balance had to struggle to keep between her inner emotion and her outward admittances. Then he realized that this was the most she had ever said about her family, other than revealing her father's ability to generate force fields. He looked out the window as he waited for Shawn to calm down.

"You're right," he whispered. "It's not fair. But we have to keep going. I just have one question for you, though."

Without looking away from the night sky, the geneticist heard a whisper. "Yes?"

"You obviously know I'm...you know."

"I knew you were gay from the moment I learned your name, Mohinder. Why do you bring this up now?"

"Well, you accepted me into your home with that knowledge."

"Mohinder, I didn't have a choice in the matter."

"Yet you never asked me to leave, even when I got a job. Shawn...you forgave me. Can't you forgive your own sister?"

At this, Shawn looked over at her passenger." Well...Consider this trip my way of making my peace with her. And as I told Bennet, Peter's in New York somewhere. Perhaps we'll find him, and maybe you'll believe me."

Mohinder turned his head and peered at the woman in the driver's seat. He reached out and rubbed her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Shawn. I just-"

"Maybe he can heal, Mohinder. Maybe he—and this—can heal us all."

The travelers sat in the car, lost in their thoughts. Mohinder continued gazing out at the rest area which glowed under the weak amber lights. Shawn, meanwhile, stared into space, passively tapping those that she loved but had died. Some time had passed before the two continued their drive to the city.


	9. Crapshoot

Sylar lay on the trapdoor, listening to the bass thump in the club below him. The bass line was bouncier than normal, and he had no idea how he would dance to the energetic mixes the visiting deejay liked to play. All the same, he appreciated the change of pace, as the heavy industrial music gave him unbearable headaches. While waiting for his performance time, he realized he still had not been introduced to the deejay even though she already mixed the music the past two nights. He had a short schedule for the evening with both of his performances before midnight.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he heard a smooth female voice hum. "I hope you're enjoying the delicious sights and sound here at The Iron Gate. It's almost nine o'clock, which means the big shows are about to begin. On Stages One and Three you can catch performances by the winners of the Tenth Annual Swingtastic Extravaganza, featuring Lenny and the Lemmings and The Pat Saxon Quartet."

Sylar rested his head on the door and snaked a cuffed hand to his crotch. He shook his head when he remembered his zipper was padlocked when they put him in cuffs. Pity. At that moment, he was about ready to give his left eye so he could beat off to the sound of the deejay's voice. Leaning back, he listened for the rest of the deejay's hourly announcements.

"And at nine thirty, be sure to check out the first of two performances by Sir Morally Grey at Circular Two. With some new music and restrictions, this will not be your typical showing from The Iron Gate's most requested showstopper. So grab some sexy libations from Mitch the Mixo and enjoy the ride."

_Thank God for Dale_, Sylar thought as he closed his eyes. He rubbed his legs together, feeling the blood pulsate throughout his length. A soft moan escaped his lips as he continued his subconscious rubbing. Realizing that he could do little more than use his thighs to stimulate himself, Sylar took several deep breaths and fought to get control of himself. Just as he calmed his nerves, he felt the jerk of the chains as they tugged him upwards. He relaxed his neck muscles, and his head flopped back. _Showtime._

Ananda dialed in a loop sequence and checked her watch. Morally Grey was about to be lowered, and the other acts were in full swing. Though not a typical venue for her style of music, she developed a taste for the pseudo-sex club's sadomasochistic atmosphere. She negotiated a lucrative deal with the owner (including being put up at the Library Hotel for two weeks) but had doubts about the club when she learned where it was located. She anticipated a rat hole that stank of blood, sweat and dirt. Instead, she could still smell the newness of the paint on the walls, and the floorboards held steady under her feet. Aside from speakers that needed a few replacement parts, The Iron Gate proved to be artistic, hospitable and erotic all in one well crafted package. Looking at her clock, she noticed it was nine thirty. She killed the loop and segued into the first of seven songs for Morally Grey's performance.

The trapdoor fell open, and Sylar felt himself being lowered to the stage. Like the music he heard in the attic, the bass line at stage level moved faster and with less weight. He smirked. The beats prompted him to swivel his hips and thrust his crotch out to the rowdy audience. A few people even tossed large bills onto the stage. Halfway through his performance, he managed to pull his chained feet down to the stage. In a standing position, he could see into the deejay booth. A pair of obsidian eyes peeked out from a curtain of shiny black locks. The eyes struck a chord in him, and he danced for the eyes. A hand reached up and pushed some of the locks away, revealing a coquettish smile and slim face. Despite the numerous people reaching out and grabbing him, Sylar continued to dance for the lone spectator in the booth until he was pulled back up into the attic.

After two in the morning, Sylar retreated to his room on the first floor of the building above the club. As he settled on his twin bed, he heard a knock at his door. When he answered the knock, the girl for which he had danced earlier in the evening stood, decked out in jeans and a lime hued shirt that set off her green eyes. She flashed him a warm smile.

"Sir Morally Grey," she greeted him.

"Sir. I like Sir," he replied with a smirk. "I should change my stage name to include it."

"It does have a regal ring to it. Anyway, mind if we chat for a bit?"

At that Sylar fidgeted. "Erm, well, if you'd like, sure."

Without another word, the girl stepped into the room. "By the way, I'm Ananda."

"Nice to meet you, Ananda. You can call me...Sylar."

Ananda cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as she sat at the foot of the bed. Sylar shut the door as soon as he made sure no one saw her enter. For a moment, he stood and assessed the girl. A smile crossed his lips as he learned what she could do. Shaking himself out of his fantasy, he joined his guest.

"So," Ananda mumbled, "how long have you been dancing?"

"Hmmm...three months, I think. It's been a while," he said.

"Regardless, you've got a knack for it. What got you into it, anyhow?"

"It's a long story. I'm basically hiding. I got stabbed by this crazed Japanese guy, and the owner took me in."

Ananda started at Sylar's comment. She stared at him for a few minutes while getting her thoughts in order.

"Ananda?" Sylar asked.

"Wha-? Sorry. Kind of a long night. I'm still not quite used to the time difference. Good thing I'm here for another week or so."

"I'd imagine. So..."

"Do you at least have a cool looking scar from the stabbing?"

Sylar chuckled. "You into scars?"

She shrugged. "I'm always amazed at the weird ways the human body fixes itself...or doesn't."

With that, Sylar shed the wife beater that barely kept him covered. Shirtless, he sat in front of Ananda, who inspected the raised line of skin. She traced it with a fingertip, running the digit over it several times in mere observation. Looking down, she noted the tiny padlock looped through the buttonhole and zipper, trapping his hard on. The deejay looked back up at Sylar with a small smirk.

"That's a hell of a scar," she said. "Kind of long for a knife. The guy must have meant business. How'd you survive that?"

"Divine intervention and an ironclad will," Sylar replied.

"Amazing. Now...how on Earth can you survive that damn lock?"

Sylar cocked his head at Ananda, who looked at his crotch and back up in one motion. "I...don't. I'm not normally locked up."

"That's just cruel. I might be able to do something about that, if you'd like."

"About what? The lock?"

"That and...what's being locked up."

Ananda then reached into her top and slipped a finger between her breasts. After a minute, she pulled out a small key on a silver chain, dangling it in front of Sylar, who could only stare and try to remember how to breathe. His breaths grew more ragged as his throat tightened.

"Would you?" he choked out.

Ananda smiled and took the key in her hand. "I'm surprised you asked. Thought you'd have...other things on your mind."

Sliding closer to Sylar, she placed a hand on each of his thighs to gain her balance. She brushed her hand against his bulge as she grasped the lock with one hand. Once she got the lock in her hand, she slipped in the key and unlocked him. Looking into his eyes, Ananda knew Sylar would not give her any problems and that she would leave his room in one piece. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the lock across the room.

"Jesus!" Sylar gasped as he bucked into her hands against his will.

"First time I've ever been called that," Ananda replied as she pressed her hands further into his thighs. "Now I'm assuming you want me to do something about this."

"Shut up and fuck me already!"

With that, Sylar grabbed Ananda's shoulders and yanked her toward him. The deejay yelped in surprise and panted as she tried to recover from the surprise aggression. She shifted her hands to the bed and dragged her pelvis to meet his.

"My pleasure," she purred as she rubbed against him. "It's been too damn long."

Sunlight peeking through the blinds lured Molly out of a restless sleep. She looked around and saw she was in what looked like a hospital room. Opening her eyes further, she recognized the room and realized she was back in New York. As she lay in bed, Molly wondered if going to Florida with Mohinder and living with Uncle Arnie were in fact part of a long dream from which she was just waking up. Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered playing in the park with her hero and going to school in shorts in January. She curled up in her bed and began to cry just as someone walked into the room.

"Molly! Breakfast!" a voice called out.

"Go away," she whimpered.

"Molly, you need to eat, sweetheart."

"I want to go back to Florida. I want Mohinder."

A young man holding a tray of food appeared in her line of vision. "Molly, please eat. If you don't eat, you won't get to see this Mohinder you want to see so much."

This prompted Molly to sit up and look at the man.

"That's the spirit," the man continued. "Now eat up. There's someone that wants to see you this morning. After that, we'll see about finding Mohinder for you."

"Okay."

The man pulled a table over to Molly's bedside and placed the tray on it. He left the room so Molly could eat in peace. For her part, Molly took her time eating the scrambled eggs and fresh fruit on her plate. Being away from what she had come to know as home and something else she couldn't quite identify all but ruined her appetite. After about a half hour, she pushed her plate away even though there were still pieces of fruit and some eggs left. The man reappeared and looked at the plate in dismay. Even so, he grabbed a piece of fruit and winked at Molly before eating it. The girl shrugged at his antics.

"Man, you are a tough one to even get a smile out of," he muttered. "Anyway, let me just get rid of this plate so you can get dressed. After that, we're going to meet someone."

Molly sat on the bed for a while, locked in a staring contest with the man until he left her to get dressed. After he left, she changed her clothes and sat back on the bed. The man came back, and Molly realized she was going to see this mysterious person whether she liked it or not. Keeping her head down, she slid off the bed and stood next to the man. He held out his hand, but she pushed it away. The two then wove their way through the corridors to the elevator.

After a brief elevator ride and walking through a mini-maze of hallways, the two reached an office. The man opened the door and stepped to the side so Molly could walk in first. Molly looked up at him, shaking her head. He waved a hand to encourage to enter the office. She held her ground, but after a couple minutes of this back and forth, Molly gave up and went inside. Walking in, she saw an Indian woman sitting at a table.

"Hello," the woman said. "I'm Mira Shenoy. I presume you're Miss Molly."

Molly avoided Mira's eyes and nodded her head.

"Molly, it's okay," Mira continued. "I'd just like to ask you a couple questions."

"Will I get to go home after this?" Molly asked.

Mira sat for a moment before answering. "I think we can arrange for that."

"Now why am I here?"

"I have a lot of things that I must oversee here, so I couldn't travel to Florida. I promise, though, we will get you home."

Molly looked away from Mira but nodded.

"Now, Molly, I heard you have a unique ability. Is it true that you can find people no matter where they are?"

Molly nodded. "Yes. I know that my uncle is in Boynton Beach, at the police station. He's probably looking for me."

"That's nice. Now, Molly, I'd just like to ask you where a couple people are. These people are very important to us. We need to find them."

"Okay."

"The first one is a man named Peter Petrelli."

Molly looked up when she heard that name. "Peter Petrelli?"

Mira nodded.

"Okay," Molly said.

With that, she closed her eyes and trained her mind on the empath. After a couple seconds, she saw his face. His visage was blurry, and she struggled to get his coordinates. A buzz hummed through her head, and she grasped at her temples. Before she could see a wall or any other feature that would detail the environment in which Peter was residing, she fell to the floor, her head hitting the edge of the table. Mira looked up and saw Molly sprawled on the floor. She dashed over to the fallen girl and shook her shoulder. Getting no response, Mira checked for a pulse. Her next move was grabbing phone and punching in an extension.

"Med bay? This is Mira Shenoy. I need a bed. A little girl has collapsed in my office."

Ananda edged a piece of chicken with her chopstick and picked it up. Popping it in her mouth, she looked up at the man sitting across from her. She looked into a pair of opaque brown eyes, and her companion shot her a smirk.

"I'm glad you suggested this," Sylar said. "I was going stir crazy in that place. Just a little outdoor air is all I wanted, but the owner insisted that I stay inside."

"That's nuts!" Ananda exclaimed. "We all have to get outside every once in a while."

"I agree. So...why come out here for a gig?"

Ananda scooped up some noodles. "I needed a change of atmosphere. I was having some problems in London as well. My efforts to curb date rapes were affecting the clubs' bottom lines."

"Really? How so?"

"Well...oh, you wouldn't believe it."

Sylar reached across the table and placed his hand on Ananda's. "Tell me. I've seen so much that I'd believe just about anything."

Ananda lifted her hand and entwined her fingers with his. She leaned closer to him and whispered, "I would make the rapists impotent just by using my mind. It would usually be temporary, but the news of my actions spread like a wildfire."

Her companion looked at her with wide eyes. "Wow. That's quite...unique."

"It's crazy, but I've been able to do shit like that for many years, almost half my life."

"That's...kind of cool, actually."

She looked away. "Eh, I wonder sometimes."

This prompted Sylar to tighten his grip. "Ananda, look at me. I'd like to tell you something."

Ananda turned her head a bit and looked at him. "What's that?"

"I..." Sylar stumbled. "I have some interesting abilities myself. I can hear even the littlest noise. While waiting for the trapdoor to open last night, I could hear every little fluctuation in your voice."

"Damn! That's impressive, especially with as thick as those ceilings are."

"I can also move things. With my mind."

At this, Ananda cocked an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

Sylar nodded. "I'll prove it to you."

He looked at his spoon resting on the table. Focusing on it, he attempted to lift it but had no success. Shaking his head, he looked away and tried again. After several attempts, he banged the table.

"Why can't I do this?"

Ananda smirked. "Oh. Sorry. Forgot to reverse that."

Sylar looked at the Indian woman sitting across from him, noticing this time her eyes now bore a light brown tint. "You...you did this?"

"Don't worry, Sylar. I can fix it."

Smiling, Ananda released her hand from his grip and placed it on his forearm. She closed her eyes as she mentally uttered the command to reverse the disabling of Sylar's telekinetic abilities. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Now try it."

This time, Sylar focused on the spoon and used his mind to pick it up with ease. Ananda smiled as he passed the spoon to her through the air. She snared it into her hand and set it on the table.

"I know who you are, Sylar," she said, "and I know I could die right here, right now."

"How?" Sylar asked. "How do you know?"

"A certain someone, who I shall not name, told me about you and the people you killed."

Sylar shook his head. "Mohinder...how do you know him?"

"More to the point, how did you figure out it was him?" the deejay asked. "Anyway, he used to date my half sister, and he tracked me down in London. Smart man, lonely as hell and desperate for human affection."

Sylar bowed his head. "That makes three of us."

Ananda nodded. "I won't deny that. Otherwise, why would I have tracked you down?"

"Because you can play the game and beat me at it. You have a hell of a power, Ananda."

"Indeed."

The two of them sat at the table looking at each other while their half eaten meals grew cold. The waiter passed by, and Sylar asked for to-go boxes. After the waiter brought the boxes and the check, the two snapped out of their mutual daze. Ananda slipped her credit card in the folder and shoved it to the edge of the table before breaking the silence.

"So...I have a good idea what it is you do and why. Are you going to take my ability?" she asked. "I've had quite a long time to test it out, and I'll tell you what. It's a very difficult skill to grasp."

Sylar shook his head. "My life's on the line. You think I'm going to kill someone when everyone wants my head on a stick?"

Ananda shrugged. "You could fight them."

"And so could you."

"Good point. I could kill them as well."

"I'm not up for risking those odds. Trust me. You'll live."

"Thank you."

At Ananda's whisper, Sylar held her hands with his and raised her head with his mind. "Why don't we get some ice cream and head to your place? I could go for being out of that room for a while longer."

Ananda smiled. "Sure. Maybe you can show me some other uses for your telekinetic ability, preferably those that don't involve me being split into multiple pieces."

"I can do that," Sylar said with a wink.

With that, Ananda signed the credit card slip, and the two left the restaurant.


	10. Rumbling at the Gates

The night air slipped through the gaps in Shawn's jacket as she stepped out of the car into the parking lot of the Days Inn. She went around to the trunk and lifted the popped lid just as Mohinder joined her from the other side. He grabbed his duffel bag out of the trunk, looking up at the building before them.

"Which room are we in?" he asked.

Shawn glanced at the numbers scribbled on the key card holder. "213. By the way, I got two cards."

With that, she handed Mohinder a key card.

"Thanks," he mumbled as he accepted the proffered card. "So, are you going to get some sleep? I mean, I did help with driving, but you haven't slept since Florence."

Shawn shook her head. "I'll be alright. I think I'll head into town for a bit."

With that, she closed the trunk and made her way to the stairs. Mohinder hurried after her, slinging his bag over his shoulder along the way.

"Shawn? Are you crazy?" he asked. "Don't tell me you're driving there!"

"Oh no," she replied. "Well, maybe. I doubt it, though. I can probably use the subway much of the time."

They arrived at the hotel room, and Shawn unlocked the door. Mohinder entered the room first before throwing his bag on the bed closer to the door. Shawn set her bag on the floor by the other bed and glanced at her watch. She closed her eyes and stood by the bed while passively tapping to get Peter's location. In her tap, she found he was back at the Deveaux building still milling around the rooftop. She shook her head to snap out of the tap.

"Shawn," Mohinder asked, "where would you go at this time of night, anyway?"

"Oh, to track down someone special," she replied. "I figured I'd go get you a Petrelli so you'd snap out of your damn funk."

"What about Molly?"

"Molly? She's at the Kirby Plaza offices. You still know how to get there, don't you?"

"Well, yes, but I—"

"Chill. We'll get to it in the morning. I figured I'd go talk to Peter first before we embark on our little rescue mission."

"Shawn."

At that, Shawn turned and faced the geneticist who sat on the edge of his bed. "What?"

"Does anyone from the hospital know you're here?"

She shook her head. "They can file a missing person's report. Yolanda and her family would be the only ones really looking for me, anyway, and they'd probably all figure that I'm out looking for Molly or doing some other favor for you."

"How long have you known them?"

Shawn shrugged. "Three, maybe four years. Feels like longer. People with abilities try to stick together. Anyway, I'm heading out, but if you need me, I have my cell phone."

With that, Shawn grabbed her purse and left the room.

After deciphering subway maps and paying cab fares that rivaled the national debt, Shawn found the Deveaux building. Doing one more tap, she realized that Peter was pacing in a nearby alley. She walked around the side only to find a figure flitting through the alleyway. Curiosity getting the better of her, Shawn made her way into the narrow area, trying her best to find obstructions or other obstacles in spite of the darkness. After some stumbling around, Shawn found the figure at a standstill. She jumped back as a ball of light emerged from the figure's hands. Peering at the light, Shawn spotted the figure's face.

"Peter Petrelli?" she called out.

The figure kept the light hovering in his hands as he turned to face her. He guided the ball to see her face.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Shawn LeLand."

"Shawn LeLand...did I call your house?"

Shawn smirked and stepped closer to the empath. "Yes, you did. I gave you the number."

"Why? How?"

"There are people out there wanting to know where you are and if you're okay."

"Does it look like I'm okay?"

Shawn started at Peter's shouting but made her way closer. "No, doesn't look or sound it, Peter. What's wrong?"

"I—"

Peter lost the light as a razor sharp pain ripped through his head. He grabbed at his temples and took many deep breaths while the pain continued to course through him. Shawn rushed over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She guided him to a sitting position, where he sat until the pain subsided.

"What happened, Peter?" she asked.

"It felt like someone was sawing through my head," he replied. "I saw these...visions of people in my head, memories, I think they were. Most of them were of people dying."

Shawn nodded and knelt next to him.

"Mohinder's right," she mumbled. "You can absorb abilities."

Peter turned his head to face Shawn, even though he could not see her. "How do you...Mohinder? Is he here?"

Shawn shook her head. "No. I came alone. I wanted to talk to you. I need your help."

"Why would you need my help?"

"It's Mohinder. He's...lonely and driving me crazy with his denial."

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't believe me when I say you're alive."

Peter sighed, and Shawn realized she walked into a veritable snake pit. "That man never believes anyone."

"Peter, he saw you explode."

At that, Peter got up. "Well, people explode all the time."

Shawn stayed close to the ground, uncertain as to the terrain of the alley. "No, they don't, Peter. Look, I know you've worked in the medical field. Our studies have shown how people can explode. Mohinder could have explained it away before, but you don't fit any of those cases! And I know you can regenerate! I know you met...Claire. I know what happened."

"You...you have an ability. Is it...?"

Shawn finally stood up. "You absorbed it. You tell me."

Peter stood there, looking in Shawn's direction. He concentrated and soon saw flashes of Mohinder's life. The images broke up as another jolt of pain hit him. This time, though, Shawn felt the same pain, and she stumbled back at its force. She forced herself to stand.

"What the hell was that?" she groaned.

"You tell me!" Peter yelled. "Were you looking through my memories?"

"Mohinder's, actually. I was checking to see what he's up to."

Peter shook his head, wondering if headaches were a normal part of this ability.

"You mean you can see the present as well."

"Anywhere in the world. Normally, I don't get what feels like a rod being shoved through my skull."

On impulse, Shawn scanned Peter's memories.

"Damnit! Get out of my head!" Peter yelled.

Shawn jumped at the empath's bellowing. "I wasn't in your head. I don't-wait. Is this because...?"

"I said get out of my head!"

This time, Peter's voice was accompanied by a shove that smacked Shawn against one of the buildings. As she flew at the brick wall, her head hit a railing, and she realized that Peter had met Sylar. Her vision went black before she hit the wall with a sickening thud. 

Hearing the crunch of bone hitting metal, Peter cringed and conjured up enough light to examine Shawn's crumpled body half slouched on the wall. He crouched and felt behind her head. Pulling his hand away, he felt blood against his fingertips. The light in his hand went out, and he sprinted out of the alley in search of a phone. As he reached the street, two men jumped in his way, grabbing him before he reached the sidewalk.

Hiro opened his eyes and found himself in a lightless alley. While he he glad to have made it out of feudal Otsu, this part of New York confused him. He didn't even know when in New York he was except that it was well into the evening and not winter.

"Hello?" he croaked. "Is anyone here?"

All Hiro heard was his voice echoing between the buildings. Uncertain, he took tiny steps toward the light at the end of the path. He only took a few steps before tripping over something. Grasping it, he found it was a human leg. Hiro cringed but shook the leg to see if the person was awake.

"Are you alive?" he asked.

When he got no response, Hiro put his hand to the person's chest and found a heart beat. Relieved, he groped about until he found a shoulder. He shook it but still received no response. Without much light, Hiro had no way of knowing what had happened but decided to get himself and this person out of there. Squeezing his eyes shut, he managed to teleport them just outside of a hospital. As he crouched with the person just outside the emergency room door, he saw the person was female and bore a familiar shade of strawberry blonde hair.

"Charlie?" he asked. "No, you're not Charlie. Charlie's dead."

This comment made Hiro realize what he needed to do. Looking around, he tried to determine how to get help. After some thinking, he got up and ran into the hospital.

Once he was inside, Hiro dashed to the desk. The receptionist looked up from typing some information into the computer.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes!" Hiro exclaimed. "There's a girl badly hurt. She's by the door, and she doesn't respond to shaking or anything. She needs a doctor!"

"Okay, sir. Calm down."

"She needs help!"

"Sir, calm down. I'm going to get a team out there. You say she's at the door?"

"Yes!"

"Okay. Let me just call the lift team, and they'll come get her."

"I'm going back out there!"

Before the receptionist could respond, Hiro bounded out the door and crouched by the girl. Noting the pocketbook still slung around her shoulder, he pried it open. In it, he found her work identification badge. He grasped it and eased it out of the purse.

"Doctor Shawn Le...Land," he mumbled just as the lift team arrived with a backboard and stretcher.

"What happened to her?" one of the nurses asked.

"Huh?" Hiro asked.

"What happened?"

"I tripped over her, and she wasn't moving. So I...brought her here."

"Do you know what happened to her?"

Hiro shook his head.

"Let's bring her in," another nurse said. "She has some cranial trauma."

Hiro moved out of the way as the nurses eased her onto the backboard before loading her onto the stretcher.

Once they wheeled Shawn into the emergency room, Hiro had a seat in the waiting area. After a couple hours, a nurse brought Hiro Shawn's purse. The cell phone rang several times, but Hiro ignored it. He watched the minute hand drag as it made its rotation, but he lacked the motivation and energy to bend the time so he could make sure she was okay. As the evening became morning, Hiro decided to see her. Closing his eyes, he shifted to her bedside in the intensive care unit.

He found Shawn lying in the gurney with her head wrapped in bandages. Stepping closer, he saw the diodes connecting her to a couple monitors, and the monitors showed stable vitals. Not sure what else to do, he grasped her hand.

"Shawn?" he asked. "Can you hear me?"

Shawn heard someone call her name, but she had no luck in opening her eyes. Instead, she saw visions of a Japanese man in glasses. She saw him in a plane talking around an obese lady to his friend; him wrapped in a feather boa in what looked like a dressing room; him stabbing a tall man straight through the torso; and finally him standing in the middle of a hilly field with warriors all around him. Realizing she was tapping the man, she explored his memories a little further, including him bringing her to the hospital. When she realized who he was and what he could do, she opened her eyes to mere slits.

"Hiro Nakamura," she mumured.

At that, Hiro walked over to a spot next to her head. "Yes?"

Shawn smiled at him. "Thank you."

With that, she found his hand and held it with hers.

"That's a pretty cool ability," she mumbled before drifting off to sleep.

Yolanda couldn't believe it. It felt like it had been much longer than ten hours since she received the phone call from New York. As the plane began its descent to New York, she wondered what in the world prompted her friend to go to New York without telling anyone and then be on the receiving end of some random schmuck's temper. After receiving the call, Yolanda tried calling Mohinder to see if he knew anything, but he never picked up his phone. With no other choice, she had a flight booked by midnight, and she drove herself to the airport. The flight was half empty, a rare event in the age of flight cancellations and overbooking. Yolanda was just thankful for the extra leg room. Before she knew it, the plane landed, and with no checked luggage, she was on her way to Saint Elizabeth's.

Mohinder woke up and found the room was empty except for him. Shawn's bed remained untouched, and Mohinder realized Shawn never responded to his numerous calls. He checked his cell phone and found Yolanda called him while he was asleep. After getting dressed, Mohinder called Yolanda's cell phone but got no answer. Dejected, he left the room and decided to make his way into the city for breakfast.

After arriving in town, he found a coffee shop not too far from the subway station. He stepped in and found a familiar figure sitting at a table toward the back. Ignoring a grumbling stomach for a moment, he walked over to the table. The figure looked up and gave him a small smile.

"Morning, Mohinder," she murmured.

"Ananda," he replied in kind. "What are you doing out here?"

"I got a gig at The Iron Gate. It's ten nights straight, and I'm halfway through. Thank God it's almost over. I don't think I'll be able to do this much longer."

"What do you mean?"

At that, Ananda stirred the contents of her cup and looked away. "I'm pregnant."

Mohinder furrowed his eyebrows. "How? I mean..."

"I know what you mean, Mohinder. The answer to your question is I met...someone during this gig. Nice guy. Misunderstood."

"So what? You gave him a pity fuck?"

"No, we had sex before I found out about all the melodrama in his life."

"I assume you're going to tell him at some point."

"That's what I plan to do today before my gig. It's just impossible to contact him outside the club."

"Why's that?"

"He lives there, and the owner doesn't let anyone touch him."

"Then how did you get to him?"

"Very carefully. I also made the owner very sleepy for a couple days. I could have made that last longer, but I decided against it. Someone might have suspected something."

"Does this guy know about you?"

"About me? How?"

"What you can do to bodies?"

"Uh, yeah. I...stopped him from coming too quickly."

Mohinder flushed at Ananda's last statement. "I did not need to know that."

"Scarring people for life is my other ability."

The Indians shared a laugh at this, unaware that an agent sat a couple tables away.

"She's detained," the agent mumbled into the Bluetooth headset hanging from his ear. "Go after him. I think we also might have ourselves a Mohinder Suresh."

"Keep following them, then," a voice murmured through the headset.

Across town, two men loitered by the staircase leading to The Iron Gate. They watched as a middle aged gentleman closed and locked the door behind him for the nearby building. The man then walked away from the building, heading for the subway. When he vanished from their line of vision, the men made their way around the building and snuck in through a side door.

Upon entering the building, the men wove their way through the labyrinth of half-walls and faded shag carpeting before reaching a door. They kicked the door down and looked around. The room had almost no furnishings except a twin bed not visible from the doorway. At that moment, Sylar lay in the bed fast asleep. The men looked at each other and moved to drag him out of the bed. Once they had a secure hold of him, they brought him to an alleyway near the building. Two other agents joined them, and these agents struck Sylar with ten pound wrecking bars. Several blows hit his torso, while the rest hit his joints to prevent him from moving anywhere at rapid rates. With that accomplished, they threw him into the back of the agents' minivan and drove to Kirby Plaza.

Half a mile away from the office, the minivan got caught up in a traffic jam. While they sat surrounded by taxis, Sylar woke up and emitted a gravelly groan. The agents sat up, and one crawled to where they left Sylar. The agent approached Sylar and found him staring off in the distance, oblivious to the other people in the van with him. Still, he grabbed a smaller wrecking bar and struck him in the jaw. Unaware that the blow dislocated Sylar's jaw and knocked out several teeth. The agent took his seat without so much as a glance at the bleeding man. After some time, they arrived at the parking garage. Opening the hatch, they found Sylar lying still in the cargo area, dried blood trailing down his neck. Checking his pulse, they found he had no pulse and radioed for assistance.

Mira pulled a wheeled office chair up to where Peter sat with his hands and feet tied down. She watched him try to pry off the restraints using his mind and have no luck. A smile crossed her lips as she took a seat across from him.

"Nice try, Mister Petrelli," she hummed. "Since telekinesis is a fairly common ability to acquire, we've found a guaranteed way to strap people down in a way that they can't break free."

"You people don't quit, do you?" Peter growled.

Mira shook her head. "I'd think you'd understand that kind of mentality."

Peter pulled his arm in an effort to loosen the rope binding his wrists to the offending piece of furniture beneath him. "That doesn't mean I like it."

"Of course not. Now...time for some questions. I've had plenty of time to prepare these since you've been on the run, so thank you for the head start."

Peter ignored her rambling. "But is this really necessary?"

"You made it such. Anyway, what all can you do, Mister Petrelli? Either tell us, or we're going to poke and prod you in an effort to find out."

The empath just shot her a dirty look as he continued to wiggle in the chair. Finally, he growled, "You can take that high and mighty attitude and shove it."

Mira gave him a wide eyed stare as she tried to comprehend what he just said to her. Peter, meanwhile, closed his eyes and then opened them, a smile crossing his face.

"No wonder Mohinder dumped you...to get me," he murmured.

With that, Mira sprang up from the chair and slapped Peter so hard he heard his neck crack.

"How dare you!" she hissed. "We'll just skip the you giving us information part and go straight to the poking and prodding."

Mohinder and Ananda approached a building in SoHo only to find a middle aged gentleman standing by the front door looking defeated. Ananda jogged up to him.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"It's Sy-Morally Grey," the man answered. "He's missing. I think whoever's been after him finally got him. But how?"

Ananda looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know, but I'm going to find him."

With that, she ran to rejoin Mohinder. As she approached the geneticist, she found him giving a sour look.

"You slept with Sylar," he grumbled.

Ananda hung her head. "Yes. Congratulations, you figured out my secret."

"And he's the father of your baby."

"Yes. I also know who would take him."

"The same people who took Molly, I bet."

She nodded. "Let's go."

With that, she started walking to the nearest subway station. Mohinder jogged to catch up with her.

"Ananda...I'm sorry."

At this, Ananda stopped short and faced Mohinder. "For what? It was my choice."

"And I shouldn't be judging you. There's just one thing I want to know, though."

"Sure."

Mohinder cleared his throat. "How did you sleep with him...and live?"

Ananda smiled. "Remember what I can do. I'd think it'd be pretty obvious."

The geneticist smirked in spite of himself. "Yeah. Now let's go. I'm going to get Molly back."

"Anything I should know before we get there?"

"Yeah," Mohinder said. "Stick with me. I used to work with these people. I can get us in with no trouble at all."

"If you say so."

With that, the Indians made their way to Kirby Plaza.


	11. Forgive Me

At Saint Elizabeth's, Shawn had been moved to a regular room for observation. Hiro and Yolanda sat in adjacent visitors' chairs, talking with their mostly coherent friend. As the doctors took the redhead off sedatives, she became conscious enough to resume tapping at her own will and to tell her visitors what happened.

"So," Yolanda said, "how goes the tapping, Shawn?"

"Well," she replied, "since my head doesn't hurt too bad, I think I could try an active tap."

"Maybe you should stick with passive," Hiro said as he brushed Shawn's hair out of her face.

Shawn nodded. "Good idea, Hiro."

Yolanda cleared her throat. "Then you ought to tap and see where Mohinder is. I still haven't been able to get in touch with him. He should know where you are, since, after all, it was your idea to drag him up here."

"Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute."

Shawn leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She tapped into Mohinder's whereabouts and found him in an elevator with a woman she presumed to be Ananda Shenoy. Opening her eyes, she glanced at the ceiling before informing her friends of what she found.

"He's at Kirby Plaza," she announced. "I think he's going to get Molly."

"Molly?" Yolanda squeaked. "Is that why you guys drove up here on a whim in the middle of March?"

Shawn nodded as she went into another tap. "Good thing he's there. It looks like she needs another transfusion."

"Oh shit," Yolanda whispered. Then she snapped her fingers. "I'm actually due for an evaluation. I think I'll check in and try to get to her."

"Then run," Shawn urged. "I wish I could join you."

Yolanda nodded as she stood up. "I'll call you when I get there."

"Alright. Good luck."

"You, too."

With that, Yolanda left the room, leaving Shawn and Hiro holding each other's hands.

"Shawn!" Hiro exclaimed.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Do you want me...to take you to Kirby Plaza?"

For a moment, she contemplated Hiro's offer. "Erm, can we go to my hotel room first? I'm not going to track down anybody wearing just this hospital gown."

Hiro flushed and nodded. Without further prompting, he put his hands on her shoulders, and they closed their eyes. They made their way to Shawn's hotel room, and she dressed in a flash. From there, they headed to the 48th floor of Kirby Plaza. Looking around, Shawn grabbed Hiro and drew him into a lightning quick hug.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Peter watched Mira as she checked some equipment. The Indian woman circled the empath for several minutes, taunting him as she made her rounds. All Peter could do was watch as Mira orbited him, pausing every once in a while to check something. If she wasn't looking at a computer monitor, she fiddled with the thermostat. After nearly fifteen minutes of watching her perform mundane tasks, he snapped.

"Why are you so upset that I mentioned Mohinder?" he asked. "It's not like I want to have sex with him or anything."

"Really?" Mira asked. "Then why do you bring it up?"

"Isn't that what most women fear when they hear their boyfriend is spending a lot of time with or even thinking about someone else?"

"I always thought it was the other way around."

With that, she grabbed a spiked pinwheel off the desk and threw it into Peter's exposed forearm. Once it was embedded in his skin, Mira grabbed the handle and dragged it down right next to the vein, watching the blood stream to the floor. Peter gritted his teeth as she ripped into his flesh. He hissed a string of nonsensical phrases and curses until she pulled the wheel out of his arm. He opened his eyes and watched the skin heal back in place. Mira watched as well, dropping the pinwheel when the skin settled. The clackety-clack of the pinwheel reverberated through the room, making Peter cringe at the pitch.

"What else can do you?" she asked. _You really are a freak._

"Yeah, I'm a freak," he replied. "Trust me, I've thought about that myself."

Mira doubled back as she recoiled from him digging into her mind.

"I also know you had sex with a married man. Your sister...she is the reason that baby was never born."

"How the hell would you know that?" she gasped.

Peter smirked. "Call it a gift. Now if you want to see my other talents, untie my hands and get me some art supplies."

The elevator doors parted, revealing the floor to Mohinder and Ananda. They scuttled out and made their way to the children's ward. Checking the rooms, Ananda opened a door only to find several bodies on gurneys covered in white sheets. She heard Mohinder shout something, but she ignored him. Walking into the room, she approached one body and pulled up the sheet. She checked all the bodies except one tucked in the back corner. When she got to it, she pulled the sheet off the person's face and stumbled away. She saw Sylar with his mouth half open and blood seeping out of his mouth.

"No," she choked out before she broke out into sobs. "Damnit, Sylar. How could they? Was it? No. Sylar, I'm...I'm pregnant. With your baby. I wish...I wish I had gotten the chance to tell you sooner."

Ananda stayed by Sylar's side for some time, not willing to move. She kept a silent vigil by the killer's corpse and pondered the lives she could not save even with her ability.

Mohinder, meanwhile, ran around the children's ward in search of Molly. He reached the end of the hallway and tripped over his own feet while approaching the last door on the right. Throwing it open, he tiptoed into the room and found a small figure lying in the bed. Walking closer, he saw it was Molly. Her face was paler than normal, and Mohinder saw the sweat beads around her eyebrows.

"Molly!"

He ran over to her bed and brushed her hair out of her face.

"Mohinder, is that really you?" she whispered.

"Yes, it's really me," he replied before giving her a kiss on the forehead. "You're okay."

"Mohinder, I don't feel so good. I...can't find anyone."

Mohinder rubbed his face. "Damnit. Look, Molly. I'll get everything set up for another transfusion. Okay?"

She nodded, and Mohinder searched the room for the necessary medical supplies. As he searched, he called Yolanda. It only took two rings before Yolanda picked up the phone.

"Malloy," she answered.

"Yolanda, it's Mohinder," he replied.

"About damn time you answered! Where the hell are you?"

"Long story. I'm in Kirby Plaza, and I'm about to give Molly a transfusion."

He heard Yolanda sigh over the phone. "At least she's okay. What floor are you on?"

"The 42nd."

"Give me ten minutes. I'm in an examination room about ten floors down. I'll be up there as soon as I can."

"Excellent!" Mohinder breathed, more out of relief than joy. "Thank you, Yolanda. By the way, were you trying to call me before?"

"Yeah. I was trying to find out if you knew about Shawn."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll explain when I get there. Go ahead and get her prepped."

With that, Yolanda hung up the phone. Mohinder hung up his phone and then got back to work finding the necessary supplies for the transfusion.

Six floors up, Shawn and Hiro shuffled around, looking for anyone they recognized.

"Why are we here?" Hiro asked.

Shawn stopped walking and thought for a moment. It didn't take long for her to get an answer. "I need to get some information from here."

"What do you mean?"

Shawn opened her mouth to answer when she heard some people talking. Without a word, she dragged Hiro into a nearby closet and shut the door. She put her ear to the door and listened as the voice approached closer. The voices and footsteps stopped in front of the closet, and Shawn backed away.

"Get us out of here," she hissed at Hiro, who wasted no time in transporting them to another floor.

Peter glanced around the room and saw the evidence of his demonstrations for Mira. The office chair was snapped in half and lying in a pool of blood that formed when she drove numerous objects into his feet. On the floor nearby was a piece of paper with a sketch of Mira's face contorting in surprise, her chin resting in another person's hand. Meanwhile, Mira walked over and untied the ropes around his torso. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him out of the room. Peter slid along the floor for what seemed like an eternity until Mira stopped at a door. She opened it before resuming dragging Peter behind her. She finally dropped him at the foot of what looked like a hospital gurney without the bars.

"Get onto the slab!" she barked.

Peter continued to lie on the floor trying to figure out how to get out of this. He decided to go invisible and walk out the door. Just as he made himself invisible, Mira locked the door. Cursing his inability to walk through solid objects, Peter made his way to the slab and rematerialized.

"Cute," Mira sneered. "Now lie down."

Peter had no choice in the matter and got onto the slab. He watched Mira as she dragged over various pieces of electrical equipment by the slab. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax, but nothing eased his hypersensitive nerves. He felt Mira slip something metallic on his fingers, and he heard several clicks of something. Without warning, he felt a jolt of electricity rock his body.

"Now, you will talk," he heard Mira growl as the electricity wave subsided.

Wandering along the floor, Shawn and Hiro heard nothing except the sounds of someone whimpering. They looked at each other and decided to investigate. The two walked down the hall, listening for the whimpers and tracked them to a half open door. Peeking in, they saw a woman with black hair standing next to a dead man whose body was covered by a sheet that had been peeled away at the face.

"Excuse me," Shawn said. "I'm sorry. I just happened to hear you. What's wrong?"

The woman looked up, angry streaks of red cutting through the whites of her eyes. "They killed the father of my baby."

Shawn looked at the man under the sheet and blinked. In an instant, she knew who he was and what had happened. "Hell of a way to kill him, too. And your name is...?"

"Ananda," the woman replied.

"I'm Shawn, and this is Hiro. Wish we could have met under better circumstances."

"Sylar," Hiro whispered. "But...I just stabbed him."

At that, Ananda looked up at Hiro. "You were the crazed Japanese man?"

Hiro simply looked at Ananda, not sure what she meant or what to make of her words. Shawn glanced at the two and decided to intervene.

"Um, story time can wait until later," she stuttered. "However, I know who seemed to order his death in this case."

Ananda looked at Shawn. "Semmed to? Who?"

"Mira. Want to go see her?"

All Ananda could do was nod.

Shawn looked at Hiro. "Get a hold of us and take us back to the 48th floor."

"But what about the guards?" he asked.

Ananda walked over to the duo. "I can handle them. Let's go."

The three of them held each other's shoulders, and Hiro brought them back to the floor where they started. Upon arrival, Shawn scanned the area before signaling them to an area off to the left. They came to a door with a warning sign about electricity use. Shawn pressed her ear to the wooden surface and listened for any signs of activity. Not hearing anything, she tried the latch. Finding it was locked, she shook it until she managed to crack the lock. She pushed the door open only to find a long window. Looking into the room, she found Peter writhing on the gurney and Mira held a violet wand in her wand.

"In here," she whispered to her companions. "Both of them. Mira and Peter."

At that, Ananda and Hiro joined her by the window.

Ananda put her face to the glass. "Shawn, Hiro, you might want to keep watch. What I'm about to do will not be pretty."

Shawn and Hiro nodded before sprinting off to the main hallway. Ananda, meanwhile, stood by the glass and tried to think of what to do. As much as she wanted to break, kill her sister, she had to get on the other side of that glass first.

_Come on, Peter_, she thought. _Can't you break the glass?_

Another female voice entered Peter's voice as he half-listened to Mira's taunts. Turning to the tinted window, he drove his remaining strength into concentrating on the glass in front of his eyes.

"Peter, did you hear a thing I said?" Mira screamed.

At that, Peter emitted a primal scream as he focused on the glass. He struggled to puncture the pane, and only one vertical crack cut the surface of the window. The empath grit his teeth and channeled more energy to that crack. After several moments of straining so hard he fought to keep from passing out, Peter broke the glass from the original crack, and shards rained down on the floor below. Looking up, he spotted another Indian girl by the window, her eyes narrowed to slits.

"Mira, you bitch," she growled. "Why the fuck did you have Sylar killed like that?"

All Mira could do was look up in surprise at the person on the other side of the window. "Ananda?"

"Yeah, that's my name," the girl hissed as she stepped over the window frame into the cell. "Why the hell did you do it?"

"Company's orders," she stuttered. "Why the hell do you care?"

"You killed the father of my baby."

Mira looked at her sister in disgust. "You mean you actually got involved with that menace...in that way?"

"Must be our mother's sexaholic tendencies. She slept with another man that I called my father. You screwed that one professor and ended up pregnant with his baby. I tried to help you keep your standing. If you had his baby, well, would you have this job?"

Mira stared at her sister, her eyes just as narrow. "I don't know what you're doing, but whatever it is, it's not working on me."

Ananda reached out and grabbed her sister by the arm. "I'm not done yet."

On the 42nd floor, Mohinder and Yolanda knelt by the bed where Molly lay. The little girl's color had improved since they started the transfusion, and she was even sitting up. Mohinder held onto Yolanda in an effort to be strong for Molly, and Yolanda held Mohinder's hand. At one point, Molly turned to face them.

"We need to go," she said. "Peter and Shawn need our help."

"Shawn?" Yolanda asked.

"Peter?" Mohinder asked.

"They're on the 48th floor."

"I thought Shawn was at the hospital," Mohinder replied, and Molly shook her head.

"Hiro," Yolanda whispered. "He must have brought her here."

"I'm okay," Molly pressed. "We need to go. Peter's in trouble! Mira's got him!"

"Mira?" Mohinder asked.

"Yes!"

Mohinder looked at Yolanda, who looked at Molly.

"She can handle it," Yolanda said. "Let's go."

The two unhooked Molly from the IV, and the three of them dashed to the elevators.

Peter fought to keep his eyes open as the two sisters traded barbs before him.

"Why are you torturing this innocent man?" Ananda asked her sister.

"He won't tell us about what he can do."

"But if he's indeed healed and gone invisible before your eyes, not to mention read your thoughts and tell you about your past, does it matter? If nothing else, you now know that our kind exists."

"Too bad you had to be a bastard in order to have an ability."

Ananda shifted her hand from Mira's arm to her chin and gripped her jaw. "For your information, I am damn proud of my father and what he could do! He did a hell of a lot more than the Shenoys ever could."

"But what happened to him? He died, didn't he?"

"Yeah. Would you like to know how he died, you harlot?"

Mira looked in her sister's opaque blue eyes. "I...don't you dare, Ananda!"

"Relax, Sis. It's only a stroke."

Ananda tilted as she tightened her grip on her sister's jaw. She watched as Mira's eyes bugged out and jaw sagged in her hands. The other woman's tongue moved as if trying to form words, but no sound left her lungs. The two of them stood there for five minutes before Ananda told the blockage to finish Mira. Ananda let go of her sister and watched as Mira's body crumpled to the floor. Just then, alarm bells sounded, and she looked behind her to see a swarm of people headed her way.

"Guards!" Hiro shouted.

"Where?" she asked.

"On their way here!"

The commotion woke up Peter, who looked and saw Mohinder. "Mohinder," he whispered.

Mohinder broke ranks and joined Ananda in the room. He looked at the various torture implements connected to Peter's body and moved to disconnect them.

"You..." the geneticist stuttered. "You're alive."

"Indeed, and I'm sorry. I promise...to believe in you," Peter replied.

With that, Mohinder began to remove the various probes and stingers. Ananda stood and watched them when she felt a tug on her shoulder. Looking behind her, she saw Hiro at her side righting right by the broken window.

"We must get out of here!" he shouted. "Come with me!"

Ananda followed Hiro out of the room and joined Yolanda just outside. Hiro grabbed both women by the shoulders and teleported them out of the building. When they left, Shawn jumped into the room and helped Mohinder in getting Peter off of the slab. As soon as Peter was standing, he cupped Mohinder's face with one hand and held his shoulders with the other arm. Looking into the Indian's eyes, the empath kissed Mohinder square on the lips before pulling him out of the room. The two men joined Molly, and Peter glanced over at Shawn.

"Come on!" he shouted. "I can do it! I've got his power!"

Shawn turned and looked at the empath. "I know you can. I just need to take care of some unfinished business here. Now go!"

Peter shook his head but grasped Mohinder and Molly's shoulders. Molly held onto each man's leg as they zipped off to safety. Shawn watched them and blinked, remembering what she intended to do. She ran through the rooms and made her way to the office she knew Thompson and Mira both used. She made her way to the desk and grabbed a USB drive out of the CPU. Stuffing that into her pocket, she ran over to a filing cabinet and yanked one of the drawers open, breaking the primative locking system in the process. Thumbing through the contents, she grabbed an armful of file folders before making her way back to the blown out window. When she arrived, she saw Hiro hop over the frame, guards hot on his tail. Without a word, he grabbed her shoulders and got them to the exterior of the plaza.

"Any guards?" Shawn asked, casting her eyes around the courtyard.

"I don't know," Hiro replied.

Just then, a blue Nissan pulled up near where they were standing. A man donning glasses poked his head out the window.

"Over here!" he shouted.

Shawn and Hiro looked over to see Bennet looking at them. They still heard the alarm sirens, and Shawn sensed the guards being diverted to the exterior.

"Bennet?" she squeaked.

The man in the car nodded. "Come on! They're going to find you out here!"

At that, Shawn grabbed Hiro by the wrist and dragged him to the car. The two piled into the car, and Bennet sped away from the plaza.

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

"The hotel's on Long Island," Shawn replied. "How'd you find us?"

Bennet shrugged. "Hunch. I heard around that you drove up here, and with Peter being in town, I figured I'd come over. The flight from LA was a bitch, though."

"I can imagine."

After a while, everyone congregated at Shawn and Mohinder's hotel. Yolanda and Bennet both checked in, and numerous room changes were made. Peter and Mohinder were in Shawn's original room, talking about what had happened since they last saw each other. Yolanda got Molly ready for bed in her room while Ananda sat at the table staring off into space. Bennet read over the data Shawn confiscated from the office in his room. Shawn and Hiro, meanwhile, took a midnight stroll along the surrounding streets.

"So, Hiro," Shawn asked, "when did you discover your ability?"

"Hmmm..." Hiro hummed. "Five, six months ago. I still can't control it well. How about you? When did you find your power?"

Shawn blushed. "I hate to say this, but it was about fourteen years ago."

"Wow! You were very young, yes?"

"Twelve, but that's young. Talk about too much information for an adolescent."

"Why do you say that?"

"It took me many years to control my ability. I soon knew everyone's secrets."

"Oh. That was hard, I guess."

"Indeed. Hey, Hiro. I have a question about your...power. Have you ever tried to manipulate time besides stopping it or jumping around?"

Hiro stopped walking and thought it over. "No. I can't say I have."

"Ah, I was just curious to see if you could extend time."

"Extend...time?"

"Yeah, like to make this night last a very long time."

"That sounds interesting."

With that, Hiro closed his eyes. After a couple moments, he opened his eyes. A breeze picked up a bag and twirled it around while a car drove by, but the clock on the bank nearby remained at 12:00 AM. Hiro looked at Shawn and smiled.

"Yatta!" he shouted.

Shawn cocked her head at his celebration.

"Yatta?" she asked with a smile smile.

Hiro looked at her with a hurt expression for a split second before he realized that what he said didn't translate. "I did it."

"You did? Really?"

Hiro nodded.

"That's awesome!" Shawn cried out in jubilation before pulling Hiro into a hug.

The two jumped around in celebration on the sidewalk, oblivious to the cars and odd looks from passers-by.

After their impromptu sidewalk celebration, the two spent the night exchanging stories, raiding a convenience store for snacks and even making their way out to a beach. Even though they had consumed three sodas each, exhaustion crept on them, and they decided to head back to the hotel. Upon arrival, they found Yolanda sitting outside Peter and Mohinder's door.

"What's up, Yolanda?" Shawn asked.

Yolanda gestured at the door. "Free porn."

Shawn shot her friend a devilish smile. "You are such a perv! Wait a minute. You mean they...?"

"Oh yeah, and for quite a while, too. Right now they're just cuddling. But man, you should have seen the rim job-"

"That's enough! " Shawn shouted. "My ears!"

"Rim...job?" Hiro muttered.

Yolanda smirked. "So how was your night? I have no idea what time it is because my watch stopped at midnight."

Hiro and Shawn looked at each other and burst into giggles.

"I extended time!" Hiro shrieked.

"Come again?" Yolanda asked.

Shawn rolled her eyes at her friend's poor choice of words. "Remember that scene in _The Odyssey_ when Athena extended the nighttime hours? Hiro did it."

"No way! You mean he can manipulate time?"

"And space," Hiro added.

"Cool," Yolanda hummed. "Shawn, you might want to consider another room for tonight. Molly and Ananda are asleep, but Bennet might still be awake. Maybe you should let the night continue so we can all get some sleep."

"Oh, alright," Shawn said. "Whaddaya say, Hiro? Bennet's room?"

"I guess," he replied.

Before they left, Hiro closed his eyes again and unfroze the longest minute in known history. Yolanda glanced at her watch, which now read 12:01.

"Thanks," she mumbled. "Now go get some sleep. It's been a long night."

"Amen to that," Shawn mumbled as she and Hiro walked to Bennet's room.

Yolanda watched as they left before looking though the door in front of her. She watched as Peter cuddled closer to Mohinder, who even in his sleepy state felt his new lover's every move. A part of her wondered how they could make this work, but she decided not to give it too much thought. They had all decided to go out for breakfast tomorrow so they could determine where to go from here. New careers and filing criminal charges waited in the wings, but that would have to wait. Stifling a yawn, Yolanda decided to join the rest of her companions in seeking slumber.


End file.
